Before the Storm
by Godzillafan93
Summary: STARS Alpha team  plus Rebecca Chambers and Mat Dawson  have returned to Raccoon City, ready to spread the word about Umbrella. But their homecoming is anything but pleasent. Follows Evil...Redefined.
1. Homecoming

**Before the Storm**

_For the surviving members of the RPD expedition sent into the Arklay Forest to root out a group of ritual cannibals, the nightmare is finally over._

_ To Chris Redfield, it means a return to Raccoon City, where his recent field promotion, after the death of his former captain (the treacherous Albert Wesker, slaughtered by the Umbrella monsters he'd sought to exploit), will likely become permanent._

_ For Jill Valentine, it means a more lonely life. Her boyfriend, Edward Dewey, has been killed in action two nights earlier, and she hasn't even gotten to see his body. The scars of her loss have only just formed, and haven't had time to fade._

_ In contrast, Barry Burton gets to go home to the family he'd risked everything for. He intends to hold onto his loved ones tightly, and never let go._

_ For Rebecca Chambers, sole survivor of STARS Bravo team, it means she's survived two nights that have tested both her skills and faith. She's faced unimaginable horrors, but has made it through. Now she plans to return to Raccoon City, take off her uniform, and never put it back on._

_ For Mat Dawson, a member of the RPD's SWAT team attached to STARS temporarily, it gives him a strange feeling, as he's been a part of something he was never meant to witness. After so many near brushes with death, he vows now to make the most of his life, since so many of his friends have lost theirs._

_ The survivors all react differently to their escape; each acts according to his or her own priorities. But they are all alike in one thing._

_ All of them assume the nightmare is over…_

Chapter 1: Homecoming

(BRAD)

There were people waiting on the roof of the RPD building as Brad slowly guided the Aérospatiale/Eurocopter AS350B police helicopter onto the rooftop helipad. Two were wearing paramedic uniforms; both also had medical bags. Brad was glad to see them; the rookie from Bravo team, Chambers, was in pretty bad shape, and he'd been worried she wouldn't survive the long flight back.

The paramedics made sense, though. Alpha team had been sent in to recover members of Bravo team after their helicopter crashed in the forest. Logically, there would be injuries to treat.

But there was another, stranger sight. Standing in full gear, complete with flak vests, riot helmets, and assault rifles, were a contingent of the RPD's SWAT units. A little ahead of them, arms folded across his chest, was Captain Peyton Welles. Brad shivered, remembering how the SWAT commander had bawled out members of Alpha team in absence of having Captain Marini or Captain Wesker on hand. Brad had thought Welles was mad then. Now he realized his error.

He could feel the anger radiating off the large black man from twenty feet above the helipad. He hoped whatever bile Welles wanted to spew; none of it was reserved for Alpha team's pilot. After all, Brad knew _he_ hadn't done anything wrong. But he'd learned long ago that one didn't always need to deserve a loud reprimand from a superior in order to receive it.

The second oddity was the sharply dressed blonde woman standing next to the medics. She wore a dark red jumpsuit and had a small laptop under her arm. _A reporter?_ Brad wondered. _What's she doing here?_

Then he noticed the third odd member of their welcome wagon. Standing apart from the other officers, hands clasped firmly behind his back, further accenting his barrel-like profile, was Chief Brian Irons himself. While Welles looked ready to breathe fire and rip new assholes, Irons had always tended more toward cold fury. Standing just behind and to Irons' left was his personal secretary, the little mousy girl named Waverly. She looked terrified to be so close to her obviously seething superior, but, like Brad, she didn't have any choice. Like the Alpha team pilot, she'd just have to do her job and hope too much shit didn't roll downhill onto her.

Beside Brad, in the co-pilot's seat, Barry Burton made a face. "Looks like they won't be rolling out the red carpet" he said grimly. Brad didn't reply; Barry had taken the words out of his mouth.

"Well folks," he said over the chopper's personnel compartment speakers, "we're home." A second later, the helicopter's skids touched the RPD building's roof, and he let out a sigh of relief. After a long, terrifying night of helplessly circling the forest searching for his team (Brad chose to forget the fact that he'd stranded them in the first place), it was finally over.

Brad killed the chopper's engines. Before the large, dangerous blades over the troop compartment had stopped spinning, the doors were sliding open. Brad unharnessed himself, then waited with Barry for their turn to exit the chopper.

The first person out of the chopper was Jill Valentine. She turned around immediately and helped Dawson, the kid from SWAT, as he supported the rookie out of the bird. Chambers was a little unsteady on her feet. Brad was amazed she was still conscious.

"We need medical help for this one!" Jill shouted to the medics, pointing at Chambers. The white clad med immediately hurried forward.

One pulled a collapsible stretcher off his back and opened it, setting it down on the roof. Chambers shook her head, protesting that she was fine, but a moment later she almost collapsed, and was finally persuaded to lie down. The two medics hurried off, carrying the STARS medic into the precinct.

Dawson started to follow, only to be stopped by Welles.

"Just a moment, Dawson, if you don't mind" the SWAT captain said, his voice thick with fake politeness.

"Sorry sir, I'm just worried-"

"Look at me, Dawson" Welles said, his voice growing dangerously quiet. "Look into my eyes and tell me I look like a man who gives a rat's flying _shit_ how you feel right now. I want you stay here until I'm finished with you and your…_friends_ here. If you're lucky, you'll still be with the force when I'm finished with you."

Dawson's face twitched slightly, which must've hurt given his apparently brand new facial scar. "Yes sir!"

Barry stepped forward, toward Welles. "Peyton, the kid's been through a lot. Cut him a little-"

"Don't talk to me like you have any right to tell me what to do, Burton" Welles spat. "You STARS assholes have fucked me over for the _last_ time." He paused, looking over the chopper. "Speaking of assholes, where's that useless captain of yours, or Marini? I'd like to have a word with them."

"Wesker's dead" Chris said, stepping out of the chopper, Brad following a moment later. "Enrico didn't make it either. Aside from Rebecca, none of Bravo team did."

Welles nodded. "And I guess that makes you the highest ranking member of STARS here. Well, I have something for you." Then, without warning, he slammed his fist into Chris's face.

Brad flinched as the STARS marksman staggered back. That looked like it _hurt_.

Dawson made a move toward his superior, but Jill grabbed his arm. Barry turned toward Chief Irons, who so far hadn't said a word.

"What the hell, Chief? You saw that!"

Irons blinked in mock surprise, a cold smile spreading across his face. "I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about." He looked over at the SWAT team Welles had brought with him. "What about you fine gentlemen?"

"No, sir!" the SWAT men chorused in well rehearsed unison.

Irons smiled. "See? You must be hallucinating due to fatigue. Which brings me to our next order of business.

"All members of STARS Alpha and Bravo teams are hereby suspended. You can turn your weapons over to these nice people from SWAT Gamma team." He smiled thinly, looking at Brad. "And that includes that blasted rocket launcher your captain _insisted _we purchase last month. Maybe we can sell it, and those marvelous custom handguns of yours, to recoup our losses from this catastrophe."

The SWAT team stepped forward, two stepping past Brad and into the chopper. Another held out a hand toward him. Brad stared at him blankly for a moment, then realized he was after Brad's Samurai Edge.

"Just a minute" said Barry. "You've got a right to the launcher. But the Samurai Edges are gifts from Kendo Gunsmith to the individual STARS members. They belong to us, not the RPD."

Brad removed his hand from the handgun's holster, glaring at the SWAT officer when he started to reach for it. If the handgun _was_ really his, if Barry wasn't just blowing smoke, then there was no reason to give it up.

Irons made a face, then waved to the SWAT officers. "He's right. And judging by the fact that they aren't with you, I assume both Dewey, Aiken, and Frost met their untimely ends along with Bravo team and Wesker?"

Barry nodded.

Irons sighed. "Well, I guess we'll just have to take what we can get." He pointed to Dawson. "He's suspended as well. Take his weapons and put them with whatever you pull out of the chopper." He pointed at Chris. "And that's Aiken's shotgun. We'll be needing it as well."

Brad watched as Dawson handed over his pistol to the SWAT officer, who shoved it into his waistband. Then the riot cop extended his hand again, looking expectantly at the submachine gun on Dawson's back.

"I'm gonna need that too, Dawson" he said, eagerness in his voice.

"Fuck off, Guthrie. I bought this with my own money. It's mine. Go ask Lieutenant Mathison if you don't believe me."

Guthrie snorted. "I know. But you're on suspension, and you don't have a civilian permit for an automatic weapon. So…" His voice trailed off, an expectant gleam in his eyes.

Muttering irritably, Dawson unslung his weapon and handed it over. "If I find a _scratch-_"

"Oh, don't worry" Guthrie smiled. "I'll take _good_ care of this for you. Trust me."  
>Another SWAT officer stepped toward Barry. "As per City Ordnance 18232 B, I'm going to have to take your magnum."<p>

Barry made a face. "But, I _built_ this gun myself."

The SWAT nodded, patiently. "Yeah, Barry, I know. And I'm sorry, but you can't own a .44 like that as a civilian. So you're gonna have to hand it over."

Barry sighed, then pulled the chromed revolver out of its chest holster and handed it over. The SWAT took it gingerly, then tucked it into his vest. "I promise I won't let anything happen to it."

"You'd better not, Aaron" Barry growled. "And I count my bullets. They better all be there when I get it back." He sent a deadly look at Irons. "Because one way or another, I _will._"

Irons smiled. "I wouldn't get my hopes up for that happening anytime soon. You're all traumatized by the losses of your teammates. I think you all need a little time off to recover. Then, I'll take statements on the tragic circumstances that have claimed over half of STARS's manpower." He looked over at the blonde reporter. "That's what I want _Raccoon Press_ to say tomorrow. Understood?"

The reporter made a face. "That's bull-"

"Remember our deal?" Irons asked. "You can print the story as I see fit, or I'll simply find someone else to give exclusives to. And I know how much you don't want that, correct?"

The reporter sighed. "Fine. Whatever. Anything else?"

Irons shook his head. "No. You're free to leave, Ms. Ashcroft."

The reporter sent a final scowl Irons' way, then turned and stalked away. The police chief's eyes followed her down the stairs before turning back to the disarmed police officers.

"Why don't you all go home? Get some sleep; I'm sure you could use it. And who knows? I may yet reinstate you." He smiled coldly. "But don't get your hopes up."

They filed down the stairs to the RPD's parking lot, Brad's mind a mess of confusion. What the hell just happened? Why was he essentially told to fuck off and die?

Chris waited until the reached the bottom of the stairs, then turned to face the others. "What are your plans?"

"I'm gonna go home" Barry said. "I need to talk to Kathy…"

"I for one am gonna take a shower" Jill announced.

Brad nodded. "That sounds good to me, too."

"I'm going to go check on Rebecca. I'll go home once she does" Dawson said.

Chris nodded. "Sounds good. I recommend we all get some sleep. Then, tonight, I want us all to meet at Emmy's diner. Everyone know where that is?"  
>Emmy's was a low-end dive toward the edge of town, by the interstate. It had showed up on one of those stupid cable travel shows, though, and despite its horrible food had become a local landmark. Brad nodded along with the others.<p>

"Good" said Chris. "Let's meet up there, let's say around eight. Then we can discuss our next move."


	2. The Cost of Doing Business

Chapter 2: The Cost of Doing Business

(ALYSSA)

To say Alyssa Ashcroft was furious was to say Niagara Falls was a leaky faucet. She was ready to spit nails and breathe fire. How _dare_ that fat, womanizing, vile, corrupt police chief tell her what to write? How did he think he was?_ Clearly someone who thinks he can push me around._

Unfortunately, he was correct in that assumption.

Alyssa hadn't done very well in journalism school; that was how she'd ended up reporting for a joke of a news rag like _The Raccoon Press_ in America's biggest small-town rather than a _real_ job someplace like Chicago or New York. Alyssa lived for the scoop; it was her sole, driving passion. The thing she devoted her entire life to. And she was willing to use _anything_ to get ahead.

When Irons had first approached her, she'd been a little concerned. His sexual reputation was an open secret in most of the circles that had anything to do with the RPD, and she'd been afraid he was going to offer her information…in exchange for sleeping with him. That was a line she wasn't quite ready to cross.

But instead, Irons had offered her scoops, including insider information she could only have obtained through a source at the RPD, in exchange for printing the occasional police friendly story.

So far, it had only meant making it seem as if the police were making more headway against in the ongoing Arklay murder investigations. Alyssa, like anyone else with eyes, knew the RPD was at a dead end; that was why the STARS teams had been formed in the first place.

She hadn't seen any harm in polishing the police department's reputation. _After all, it'll only make people feel safer_. So she told herself, anyway.

Most of the time, she even believed it.

But this was different. _This_ was a gross abuse of her Constitutional Rights, and Alyssa had half a mind to call up the American Civil Liberties Union. Surely the ACLU would be interested to learn all about Brian Irons…

But she didn't.

She couldn't.

She'd never been confident in her abilities as a reporter, and she feared that, without her edge over her co-workers, she'd lose her job to some hotshot newbie before too much longer. She _needed_ Irons to keep her job.

And so she returned to her office, setting her still powered down laptop beside her as she settled down to the dreadnaught of a Gateway PC that dominated her desk. She'd brought the laptop (a ruggedized Tough Book her dad had bought her when she graduated, back in the days when it had looked like she might be going places), assuming she'd need it to take notes. She hadn't expected to have Irons tell her exactly what to write.

She sighed, opening WORD. She needed to put together a story based wholly on what Irons had implied during his dressing down of the hapless survivors from the last night's catastrophe into something that both reassured the citizens of Raccoon City and made the RPD look good.

She wasn't sure how to pull that off, and was tempted to call Irons and point blank ask him what to write. But she knew that would only piss him off, and might jeopardize her arrangement.

_Maybe I can work the human interest angle_ she decided, after a moment. She remembered the poor redheaded kid and how bad she'd looked, as well as the equally bedraggled looking SWAT officer who'd been about the same age. There were a series of nasty slashes on the boy's face; apparently he and the girl were the only survivors of the chopper crash. She wasn't sure how the two Alpha team members were dead, but this still gave her something to go on.

Except, she didn't know any of their names.

Once, that would've meant a call to the RPD building itself, a discrete inquiry into personnel files. That would mean driving back down to the station, and risking a confrontation with Irons.

Fortunately for Alyssa, there was now a wonderful tool known as the internet for her to use. In no time she could have the information she'd need.

_Maybe I can interview them_ she thought to herself as she printed off several pages from Explorer. _Hell, maybe I can even interview the survivors, and the families of the ones who didn't make it. This could turn into a whole series!_

Smiling to herself, Alyssa realized she'd found her story. She could even imagine the headlines.

TRAGEDY IN AMERICA'S BIGGEST SMALL TOWN

Maybe she'd even get some AP notice, meaning her story would be circulated to other papers around the country. Maybe someone would notice her work at last, and offer her a job outside this hayseed city.

The joy that thought brought her was almost enough to let her forget the story hadn't been her idea.

Almost.

(IRONS)

It was hard being the chief of police. Irons hated his job with a burning passion few would have suspected. There was just so much damn _work_ involved, and it just didn't compare to actually being out on the streets. Back when he'd been a patrol officer, _that_ was when he'd been happiest.

Unfortunately, that hadn't been where Umbrella needed him. He had the Company to thank for his current position, and while he wasn't very happy where he was, it beat the _hell_ out of jail.

He'd made a couple of decidedly…unwanted advances in college, once on a co-ed and once on a high school senior. That second offence had, through ways he wasn't quite sure of, brought him to Umbrella's attention. The Company had bribed a couple of District Attorneys, intimidated a forensics analyst, and broken into an evidence room, all for his sake. They'd also assisted him in his climb up the long ladder of promotion to his current position as head of the RPD. In exchange, he did pretty much whatever they told him.

No threats had ever been made. Nothing untoward that might potentially cause Umbrella trouble. Irons suspected they were holding the evidence from both his rape case, just in case he decided to screw them over. But he wouldn't. He managed to convince himself it was because he knew he was the best man for the job, that he was the _only_ person who could keep Raccoon City safe and at the same time do Umbrella's bidding.

Really, though, it was just because he knew how long people who molested helpless teenage girls lasted in the American corrections system. If he went to prison, he knew he'd be in for a short, brutal stay.

Still, he was beginning to question the wisdom of some of the Company's choices.

He'd first met Albert Wesker just before the Arklay murders had become national news. The smooth talking, dark-clad blonde man had approached him as a Company representative and informed him he was going to form a special police unit, with Wesker as its over-all department head; Wesker would handle day-to-day administration and would hand pick all his own officers, while Irons would just have to be willing to supply funding.

_And what a money pit STARS was_ Irons thought sourly, remembering expenses in five and sometimes _six_ digits. _And who do the tax payers complain to? Not Albert goddamn Wesker, that's for sure._

Worse, Wesker had begged, borrowed, and flat out stolen some of the RPD's best officers. It had been Barry Burton Irons had wanted to put in charge of SWAT, not the mildly psychotic Peyton Welles. But Wesker had requested him, and Irons knew he couldn't say no to the Company man.

Kevin Dooley was one of the RPD's best pilots. Chris Redfield and Edward Dewey were expert snipers. Jill Valentine could pick damn near _any_ lock. The list went on and on…

Other choices, though, made _no_ sense. The RPD had much better field scouts than Kenneth Sullivan; even if the man _was_ a decent chemist, there was no reason why that talent would be useful in the field. Brad Vickers was a dyed in the wool coward; he was toward the top of Irons' long list of people he'd never trust with his life. Joseph Frost was cocky and flippant; not a trait you wanted in a soldier. Richard Aiken was a lady killer, but only a halfway competent officer. Rebecca Chambers, child genius though she might be, had _no _business anywhere _near_ most weapons. Then there was Enrico Marini, the Bible thumper. For every good officer Wesker chose, he also seemed to look under desk, waste bin, and rock to find the RPD's most useless officers. And, in Chamber's case, he had apparently felt the need to hire a woeful incompetent from outside the force's ranks.

Meanwhile, Irons had been forced to turn down scores of far more qualified applicants. Aaron Breckenridge, member of SWAT and a model officer. Mat Dawson, who'd managed to get assigned as an auxiliary to STARS anyway. Chase Mathison, one of the RPD's top shots and a genius at urban and suburban tactics. Kevin Ryman, a patrol officer who had qualified with almost every handgun ever made had applied _twice_, only to be rejected both times. None of them, or any dozen others, had been what Wesker was looking for.

Irons wasn't sure exactly what that was. And with Wesker, along with over half his hand-picked team, dead back in the Forest, there was no way to ask him, either.

"Uh, Chief?" The anxious voice of his secretary snapped Irons out of his thoughts. Heather Waverly was a not very flashy brunette, who was working at the RPD to pay her way through nigh courses at Ravensgate University. She wasn't much to look at under most circumstances, but Irons had subtly encouraged her to dress in a more…appealing manner.

Today, for example, she wore a pleated skirt that stopped just above her knees, black hose, and a pair of moderately heeled boots. It hadn't taken her long to realize she got a two cent raise every week straight she wore them.

He'd made advances toward her exactly once. Things hadn't panned out, and he'd gotten a nasty note from Umbrella the next day suggesting he keep himself in check.

Still, no one had said anything about looking…

Waverly was holding a small notepad in her hand. Irons squinted at it, unable to make out his secretary's spidery hand. "What?" he growled.

Waverly reacted to his tone as if he'd struck her. Ever since he seen her bump one of the statues near the STARS office and had as loudly as possible ripped into her, she'd walked small around him.

"It's Doctor Birkin, sir" she said; Irons could tell she was trying her best to keep her voice still. He could also tell she wasn't succeeding.

Doctor William Birkin was in charge of the official Umbrella lab eight miles outside of town…and the unofficial one that sprawled through Raccoon City's sewer system; there was even a passage into it behind where he now sat. He was Irons' normal method of communication with the Company, and ordinarily the two got on well. Still, he remembered him and Wesker being friends. _Maybe he's calling to demand an explanation of his buddy's death. Fun._

"What does he want?" Irons asked pointedly.

Waverly looked down at her pad; Irons suspected it was so she didn't have to look at him. "H-he wants you to call him back before five-thirty today" she stammered, her eyes a little wide with fear. She seemed to think Irons was going to jump across the desk and strangle her right here in his office if she told him something he didn't like. _Not quite_ Irons realized. There were several things he knew Umbrella would do to keep him in his current position, but covering up a murder wasn't one of them.

Besides, he'd suspected Birkin would want to talk to him. "Is that it?"

Waverly nodded, her light brown ponytail bobbing slightly.

"Fine. I want you to remind me to call him by three this afternoon. Got it?"

Waverly nodded again, her hand shaking as she marked that down on her pad.

"Good" Irons said. "Now get back to work. I don't pay you to stand around in my office. Move!"

Waverly let out a small, terrified squeal and hurried away. Irons didn't particularly hate to see her go (after a while, her voice got on his very last nerve). But he did _love_ to watch her leave…

He looked down at his watch, an expensive Rolex he'd bought shortly after his promotion. Back when he was a patrol officer, such an expensive time piece would have been too easily broken, too impractical, for him to wear to work. But there were a few small perks to having a desk job.

He had roughly five hours until he needed to call Birkin. That gave him time to write up the damn _So sorry to inform you_ letters for the hapless STARS officers who'd died the last two nights. It seemed as if Wesker wanted to give him the middle finger one last time; even in dying, he'd managed to make more work for Irons.

(MAT)

Doctor Hursh was an immigrant from India who had a rather musical accent and a truly impressive mustache that made it look as though some very hairy caterpillar had decided to take up residence under his nose.

Still, he was a kind enough man, and he seemed to know what he was doing. Better still, he didn't wrinkle that caterpillar habit of a nose at the smell coming off Mat's body the same way the receptionist at the front desk had when he'd asked her where Rebecca was.

The receptionist had demanded to know his relationship to Rebecca. Mat didn't have the right hair color or build to say he was her brother, and he'd needed to show ID to get this far any way. All it would take was a quick call to the guard desk on the first floor and he'd be made a liar.

"I'm her…partner" Mat said, after a moment's thought.

The receptionist cocked a blonde eyebrow to go along with the fair skinned nose she'd raised when he'd first walked up. "Is that in a sexual context?"

Mat felt his face suddenly get bright red. "Wha-? No! I already told you, we're both cops. And I'm about the closest thing to family she has in town, anyway. So can't you just let me-?"

"I'm sorry, Mr.…Dawson, but Ms. Chambers isn't allowed to have any none related guests. It's hospital policy."

"But-"

"Veronica, I don't see what harm it can do" Doctor Hursh had said, leaving Rebecca's room and approaching the desk. "She's perfectly stable, and she'll be fine to leave by this afternoon. I don't see why he can't go see his friend." He turned to look at Mat. "He's probably concerned about-Good Lord, what happened to your face?"

Mat remembered the nasty slashes on his face. He'd seen them when he'd made a quick pit stop at the RPD bathroom earlier. He'd had no idea how close he'd come to being blinded. "Chopper crash" he said weakly. It was better than _giant lizard_.

Hursh looked at him dubiously, then shrugged. "Well, why don't you go inside? She's asleep right now, but if she wakes up I'll bet she'll be happy to see you. I'll be back in a few minutes, and maybe I'll be able to do something for those cuts." He paused, looking at Mat's arm. "And dear Lord, is that a gunshot?"

Mat nodded, getting more and more uncomfortable. "Yeah. When the chopper crashed, somebody's weapon discharged. I got clipped."

Hursh stepped forward, peering at the dark red bandage on Mat's arm. "And you dressed the wound yourself, correct?" Mat nodded. "Well, you've certainly learned your field first aid. Go sit down with Ms. Chambers. I'll be back shortly to take a look at you as well. Why didn't you come here with her?"

_Because our dickhead police chief and my equally dickish captain wouldn't let me._ Something, Mat wasn't sure what kept him from saying that. "I guess I just didn't think it was that serious" he said lamely.

"Not series-Man, you were _shot_! By what stretch of the imagination is that not serious? And you look exhausted. When was the last time you slept?"  
>Mat had no idea when that had been; he'd stayed up late playing <em>Quake 64 <em>with some buddies the night before he'd gone into the Forest; the resulting caffeine from that night of gaming had kept him from getting back to bed. "Uhhh…"

"Well, you can give Ms. Chambers a ride home once she's released" Hursh said. "She doesn't appear to own a car; at least, there weren't any keys in her pockets. Once she's taken care of, I suggest you go home yourself and get some rest. You look like the walking dead."  
>Mat laughed out loud at that. Hursh looked at him in confusion. "Sorry, I'm just tired." Then he remembered that he'd taken the subway to get here. <em>Well, I guess I'll have to spring for another ticket<em> he decided.

The doctor shook his head, then wondered off, muttering to himself in a language Mat couldn't catch.

He shrugged, then turned back toward the room he'd seen the doctor come out of. Just as he'd guessed, there was Rebecca, lying on one of the uncomfortable hospital beds. The other one was vacant, and Mat was tempted to climb into it himself and grab some sleep.

Instead, he made his way to one of the equally uncomfortable plastic padded chairs that seemed to appear in all hospitals, and pulled it close to the bed, then sat down.

Rebecca's face was a mass of bruises. There was an IV in her arm, providing her with _what_, Mat had no idea. Her arms were equally discolored, and there was a nasty gash in her shoulder, visible just beneath the strap of her hospital gown. Mat couldn't see much else of her; someone had tried to preserve some of Rebecca's dignity and covered her with the bed's bland, white colored sheets. Mat was grateful for that; hospital gowns weren't the most flattering or concealing articles of clothing in the world, and he didn't want to see her in one.

He reached out and took her hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb. He remembered Rain, JD, and Olga. He'd been the sole survivor of the Hive. And he'd almost been the sole survivor of the first RPD team sent into the Forest. More than anything, it had to have been luck that Rebecca had made it. She could just as easily have died back in the mansion, and he would've been alone again.

_Or it could have been _me_ who didn't make it_ he realized. _I could be in that bed instead of her. Or _I_ could've been killed last night instead of Richard or poor Captain Enrico._ He shivered. Confronting one's mortality was not something most 19-year-olds did. _But then again, most 19 year olds haven't just escaped a Romero flick_.

He looked up to see Doctor Hursh returning, a roll of gauze in one hand, an Umbrella first-aid spray in the other.

"I'm going to rebind that wound on your arm" he explained. "But first, I'm going to spray it with this. It's called Aquacure, and it's the closest to a miracle drug as we've got."

"That's okay, Doctor" Mat replied. "I've already been given some of that."

Hursh blinked. "How did you-?"

Mat indicated Rebecca's sleeping form with a nod of his head. "She was her team's medic. She treated my wound."

"But where did she get Aquacure?" Hursh asked. "The stuff costs more per gross than I make in a month, and they don't sell it in stores. I highly doubt the RPD issues it in all their first aid case."

"She, uh, found it" Mat said.

Hursh eyed him suspiciously, but didn't say anything. "Let's take a look at this arm wound of yours, just in case" he said, stepping forward and gently unwinding the bloody gauze. "Well I'll be" he muttered a second later, looking down at the neatly scarring tissue on Mat's arm. "I guess you were telling the truth." He shrugged. "Fair enough. Strictly speaking, I'm not supposed to use this except in the utmost emergencies. Well, I can at least help you close up those cuts on your face. If you're not careful, you'll get infected."

"Believe me, I know that. I know _all_ about infection" Mat replied. Hursh gave him another confused look, then began putting a series of small, thin bandages across the wounds on Mat's face.

"These will help the cuts grow together. You'll still have some interesting scar tissue, but it shouldn't get infected. Besides, ladies _like_ to hear about how you got your scars." He paused, glancing over at Rebecca. "Not that it looks like you need any help in that area."

Mat realized he was still holding Rebecca's hand. Fortunately she was still asleep; this was already embarrassing enough. Hastily he let go, leaning back a little from the bed.

Hursh laughed good-naturedly, then turned and walked away, whistling to himself a tune Mat had never heard.

After a moment, Mat reached out and took her hand again. Somehow, that just seemed _right_ to him.

But Rebecca was still asleep. That suddenly seemed like not such a bad idea to Mat either. Slowly, his head sank down onto the bed, his eyes drifting closed. For the first time in forty-eight hours, he slept.

(ALYSSA)

She was on her way down to the parking lot when she was ambushed.

"Heading out?" an overly cheerful voice called out. Grimacing, Alyssa turned around.

Standing behind her, smiling that golden retriever smile of his, was Ben Bertolucci in all his considerable glory. Alyssa detested the man.

For one thing, Bertolucci had a casual disregard for personal hygiene that made the obsessive Alyssa cringe. His clothes always looked slept in and were often grease stained…when they weren't just stretched tightly over his expansive gut. His hair was long and dirty brown, greasy and always pulled back into a ponytail. Alyssa couldn't tell if it was a fashion statement or he just didn't want to get it cut.

But Alyssa had other, deeper reasons to loathe him.

Ben, unlike Alyssa, actually cared about the story, not his own career. That, Alyssa decided, was why he'd happily stayed in Raccoon City for the past five years, while Alyssa had spent the same amount of time doing everything in her power to leave. He was willing to tackle any issue, from failing health standards in the city's school lunches to the rampant corruption within the local government. He was the sort of reporter she'd once aspired to be.

And she hated him for it. And she hated him for the fact that, deep down, she wished she _was_ him.

"Uh…yeah" she said half heartedly.

"Mind if I tag along?" he asked, grinning ear to ear like a drunken frat boy alone on sorority row.

Most of Alyssa's male fellow journalists (and, to her mild discomfort, some of her fellow female journalists as well) were more than mildly attracted to her. Coming from any of them, this would have been just an attempt to come onto her.

But Ben was different there, too. He never mixed his personal and professional lives. Alyssa doubted he even had a private life. He lived for his work; as a result of which, he didn't have too many friends within the _Press_'s upper echelons, among the chief editors with close ties to the mayor and who only suffered Ben's continued presence because he sold papers.

"S-sure…" Alyssa said, suspicion rising inside. But Ben couldn't be out to scoop her; if anything, he'd gladly let her take all the credit for her story, so long as people read it. He was like that. _And he might come in handy_ she realized. Chambers had almost certainly seen her on the roof of the RPD building. Even though she'd left before Irons had ripped into the other obviously exhausted STARS, it was likely one of her teammates had told her what was going on. But with Ben with her…_I suddenly look more legitimate_. "Why not?"

Ben smiled again, eagerly. "Great! I've already got my pad, and I'm ready to go."

Alyssa, like lots of reporters, had already switched to a laptop, realizing she could type much faster than she could write in long-hand. It was just one more way Ben was different from most reporters.

"Good" she said tightly. "Do you want to follow me, or-?"  
>"Well, I rode the bus to work, so unless you're planning on walking to St. Michael's…"<p>

Alyssa sighed. She'd been afraid he'd say something like that. _Now I'll have to get the Century interior washed_ she fumed. Then she realized Ben already knew where they were going. _Bastard! He must've peeked over my cubicle wall!_ Then again, Ben was a smart reporter. It was _possible_ he'd simply come to the same conclusion she had. With most reporters, she would've known which way to lean. With Ben, though, it was always hard to tell…

The drive to the St. Michael district (so named for the large clock tower toward the center) was reasonably short, since Alyssa could take the new interstate overpass and cut over the warren of side streets and rundown neighborhoods on this side of town. She lived in Greenway, a nicer suburb on the edge of town, and couldn't imagine ever living down there, at the ass end of Raccoon City.

Ben didn't say anything the entire time. He just pulled out a small, yellow, Dixon Ticonderoga No.2 pencil and began to twist one end in a small, black, cigar shaped sharpener. _At least it's self contained_ Alyssa allowed. She wouldn't have enjoyed vacuuming out the car otherwise.

The receptionist at the front desk hadn't wanted to let them in, but Alyssa and Ben's press IDs worked like magic and gained them access to the second floor. From there, they had to talk to _another_, even snottier desk clerk before finally being pointed in the right direction.

_She's kind of pretty_ Alyssa allowed when she first saw Chambers. She was always rather jealous of her looks, and of complementing anyone else's, even in her own mind. She was also asleep.

And she wasn't alone.

There was a young man slumped over at the foot of her bed, also clearly out of it. But the sound of Alyssa's heels made him suddenly jerk awake, his head snapping up, one hand dropping down to his right leg, like he was reaching for something.

"Oh" he said after a moment, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I thought…Never mind." He paused, looking her over. "Who are you?" Then realization dawned on him. "You're the reporter from this morning! Irons' pet journalist. What are you doing here?"

Alyssa made a face. _Uncouth little bastard_. But instead, she put on a fake smile. "You're Mathias Dawson" she replied. "I'm here to talk to you."

"In Rebecca's hospital room?" Dawson said, incredulously.

_Well, I didn't expect to kill two birds with one stone…_

Alyssa ignored the question. "My friend Ben and I are here to talk to you about what happened the other night."

Dawson's eyes narrowed. "Why? Didn't Chief Irons already _give_ you your story?"

Alyssa heard Ben cough loudly behind her. _Shit._ She decided to press on. "I'd like to interview you about the officers who died last night. And get your input on what exactly went wrong."

"Really?" Dawson asked, eyeing her suspiciously. "Why should I trust you?"

"I'm a reporter."

Dawson snorted. "And I'm a cop. So why-?" His eyes drifted over to Ben, who was standing in the doorway behind her. "Hey, I remember you! Aren't you that-?"

"Fat guy who hangs out at J's with the off duty patrol cops?" Ben laughed. "Yep, that's me. And _I_ remember _you_. You're the trigger happy kid from the hostage crisis in Raven's Gate."

Dawson's face turned red. "I was afraid you'd bring that up."

Ben laughed. "It's okay. Everybody screws up once in a while. And if you'll recall, I didn't mention you at all in the paper, did I?" Dawson shook his head. "See? You can trust me. And _I_ trust Alyssa here. So why don't you let us do an interview?"

Dawson sighed. "Fine. But I warn you, you're not gonna believe what I have to say. But I want your word, right now, that no matter how strange what I tell you is, you'll at least hear me out."

_What the hell is he talking abo-?_

"Done" said Ben, before she could even open her mouth. _He's taking over_ she fumed silently.

Then she took a closer look at Dawson. He had a series of small, white bandages on the scratches on his face. Alyssa stared at them for a moment. They didn't look like the results of a chopper crash; more like an animal attack…_Something funny is going on here_ Alyssa realized, remembering how Irons had dressed down the STARS immediately after they'd disembarked the chopper.

Two and a half hours later, she was still suspicious, but now of her sources. Secret labs full of monsters? _What kind of bullshit is this?_

Worse, Ben was swallowing it all whole. It was obvious to Alyssa that Dawson was just spitefully wasting their (_her_) time, but Ben either hadn't caught on or didn't care. She'd taken notes on her laptop for about five minutes; then she'd opened another document and began to skim through, nodding occasionally. She had a story on the RPD's new armored cars due next Tuesday, and she'd copied an article from the manufacturer's website in order to read it later and bone up on the subject.

Then Ben stood and shook Dawson's hand. "Here's my number" he said, pulling a small, battered piece of card paper out of his equally well used wallet. "Give me a call sometime and we can set up a meeting."

Dawson could've been an award winning actor. Alyssa was almost convinced by how relieved he sounded. Almost.

"Thanks" he relied, sliding the card into his pocket. "You have no idea how much it means to me that you believe me."

Ben just smiled and shook his head. "I'm only interested in the truth, Mat," (somewhere along the way they'd gotten on first name basis), "no matter how strange it might be. Let me know if you have anything else you remember, or if anyone else wants to add to your account."  
>"Will do" Dawson replied, looking down at Chambers. "Rebecca and I were separated for most of both days, so she's seen stuff I haven't. And neither of us was there for Alpha team's insertion, so you'd have to talk to Jill, Chris, or Barry about that."<p>

Ben made a quick note in his pad, then extended his hand. "Thanks very much. And I hope you and your friend both recover fully."

"I can't believe you bought his horseshit" Alyssa said tersely when they got back to her car.

"What do you mean?"

"The biggest employer in the entire _county_ is secretly making bioweapons?" Alyssa shook her head in disgust. "Can't you see? Dawson's disgruntled because his friends died and Irons is probably going to fire the lot of them. He just wants to attract attention to himself and his buddies. That's all this is."

"I dunno, he seemed awfully sincere-"

"This whole trip was a waste of my time. There's no story here."

Ben looked over at her, an odd look in his eye. "Is that so, huh? Well, then, do you mind if I take over this particular angle?"

Alyssa shrugged. "Sure, if you just feel like wasting your time. It's a dead end."

"If you say so…" Ben's voice trailed off. "So, can I-?"

"Yes, dammit, you can have my stupid story!" Alyssa snapped, irritated.

"Okay" said Ben. "But don't say I didn't give you a chance…"

The rest of the ride back to _The Raccoon Press_ offices was quite.


	3. As It Stands

Chapter 3: As It Stands

(BRAD)

The first thing he did when he returned to his apartment was take off his boots. They weren't the most comfortable footwear in the world, and after wearing them completely laced up for six straight hours, uncomfortable became unbearable.

Next he took off his belt, sliding the holstered Samurai Edge off and putting on his dresser. Once it was there, he suspected it would stay there for a while. He wasn't a gun nut like some of the other STARS, and he didn't have a concealed carry permit. Besides, how likely was he to need a handgun in town?

He shivered momentarily, remembering the brief conversation he'd had with Barry on the way back to Raccoon City. He wasn't especially friendly with any of the STARS, but he knew the weapons expert well enough to know he was solid, dependable…and didn't make things up. And he remembered the hideous monster he'd seen a top the mansion, and how much stopping power it had taken to put the thing down. Maybe he needed to get his handgun permit after all…

_No_ he decided. _Why bother?_ No matter _what_ had happened inside that god-awful mansion, it was over and done. They were home now. They were safe.

With that in mind, Brad decided to take a shower. Then he'd make one of the truly horrid frozen omelets he'd bought for when he was too tired to cook, eat the disgusting grease trap, then get some sleep. He made sure his alarm was set, just in case he didn't wake up. He wasn't sure what Chris had wanted with them at Emmy's, but he suspected it might be important.

(JILL)

She'd tried to sleep, but it constantly eluded her.

She tried not to remember, tried not to think about him, but she couldn't help it. There were constant reminders of him everywhere: pictures of them together on the wall, the card he'd gotten her after they'd been dating for six months. She knew it would be easiest if she took all those things down and boxed them away somewhere, but she also knew that would eventually mean forgetting Edward, too. And she wasn't ready to do that just yet.

She looked over at the clock next to her bed.

12:28

Jill sighed. She needed to change out of her uniform and take a shower. She _really_ needed to get some sleep. But first…

"I need a drink" she said quietly.

She pulled a beer out of the fridge, shot-gunned it down, then briefly debated a second before pulling it out as well. But after two, she walked away. The way she felt, those two beers could turn into ten if she wasn't careful.

She went back to her bedroom and turned on the TV. She managed to catch the last ten minutes of a local news program, starting briefly when she heard her name.

"-names released by a spokesperson for the RPD include Barry Burton, Rebecca Chambers, Mathias Dawson, Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, and Brad Vickers. No explanation has been given for these suspensions, but sources within the police department suggest that an internal investigation into last night's events is underway, with emphasis on apparent negligence and incompetence within the Special Tactics and Rescue Service. When asked about his own opinion on the matter, chief Brian Irons declined comment."

The aluminum can in Jill's hand slowly crunched in on itself, the dregs of her beer oozing through its punctured sides and running down her fingers. She ignored it, staring at the TV even after it went into a mindless ad for some new video game.

_That _bastard Jill fumed. _It's not enough that so many people died; now he's hanging us out to dry. He's trying to discredit the STARS, and the only reason he'd do that is-_

"Is if he had a vested interest in Umbrella remaining a going concern in Raccoon City" Jill finished out loud.

She checked the clock again. She still had a few hours before she needed to meet the other's at Emmy's. She decided to take a shower, then go out and get some fresh air. She'd found she always thought more clearly when she was on the move. She definitely needed it.

And any excuse to get out of her apartment was a good one.

(REBECCA)

Her head was still spinning when they left the hospital. The doctors said she'd be fine, that it was okay for her to leave, but she still didn't _feel_ okay. She felt like every single nerve in her body had been dipped in ice. She was on a lot of pain meds, she realized. She didn't want to think about how she'd feel once they wore off. At the moment, though, she was high as a kite.

She was also glad she had Mat with her. Otherwise, she would've had all sorts of fun finding her way home. As it was, she had a fairly enjoyable trip on the elevated train Mat guided her to.

"Woo!" she exclaimed as the train swayed beneath her feet. Several other passengers gave her and Mat strange looks, but Rebecca didn't care. The train's motion somehow felt really…soothing, like standing up on a roller coaster might have. "Isn't this fun?"

Mat was standing a few feet away from her, holding onto a safety rail and trying very hard to both pretend he didn't know her and make sure she didn't hurt herself. "All sorts" he said in a tone of voice making it clear it was anything but.

"Oh come on, live a little!" Rebecca shouted happily, reaching out and grabbing his hand, pulling him away from the rail. Mat wore a look of mortification at the spectacle she was making. In her pain medication induced state, Rebecca had a hard time caring.

"Why don't we sit down?" Mat asked after a moment, a pleading note to his voice. His eyes kept darting over to a particularly disapproving old woman, who was clutching her handbag tightly and whose eyes looked as if they might either vacate her skull or spit beams of death in their direction.

Rebecca made a face at him. "You're no fun."

"_No_" Mat replied, sounding as if he was only just managing to keep control. "I don't want to end up going back to work in the wrong end of a squad car because my best friend is acting like she's drunk and disorderly."

Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest. "Fine" she pouted.

"Thank _you_" Mat said softly, evident relief in his voice as they sat down together on one of the train's benches. At this time in the afternoon, there weren't many passengers. "Now, you're gonna have to let me know which stop we need to get off at. Where do you-?"

"You know, you don't have to keep holding my hand" Rebecca interrupted. Mat had looked uncomfortable when she'd grabbed him, but he hadn't let go when they sat down. "Unless, of course, you _like_ it…" She sent him a mischievous look.

Mat's face went white. "Oh, uh, sorry." His fingers immediately let go. "Now, where do you-?"

"Park and Madison" Rebecca replied. "Right on the edge of the Mission District. But aren't you having fun _here_? Isn't this train amazing?"

"Now that you mention it, no. I think you'd better get home and get some more sleep pretty soon. You're something of a danger right now."

"Not any more than you are, officer" Rebecca replied. Then she reached behind Mat, where his untucked uniform shirt was overlapping part of his waist band.

"Hey, what are you-?" Mat began. Then his eyes widened when she pulled the chromed handgun out from behind his back.

"This is a very pretty gun you have here, officer" Rebecca said, admiring the way the weapon's finish gleamed in the sunlight.

"Oh, Jesus. Rebecca, I need-"

Rebecca slapped him across the face. "That's my _savior_ you're talking about!" she shouted, suddenly angry. She wasn't especially sure why; Mat had sworn the entire time she'd known him. But suddenly, it seemed like a big deal. Just like his strange handgun was suddenly so _interesting_.

"And that's a real _gun_ you're waving around here" Mat said, trying to snatch the weapon out of her hands.

Rebecca pulled back, laughing. "Slow-poke!" she taunted. She'd forgotten how much fun it was to harass him. Oh, it seemed like _ages_ since she'd done this.

"C'mon, stop it!" Mat begged, his eyes wide and darting around the train car.

"Oh, don't worry, officer. You're a cop, right? You're allowed to have a gun."

"We're _suspended_, Rebecca. So _no_, we aren't."

A part of Rebecca realized he had a right to be concerned…but the rest of her was having too much fun to care. "What's the magic word?"

Mat's hands both shot forward at the same time, wrapping around hers and shoving it down onto the seat. Rebecca smiled at him again. "Mat, you're holding my hand again" she chided.

He rolled his eyes, pulling the gun out of her fingers and hastily shoving it back into his waist band. "Oh, boy. What _are_ you on?"

Rebecca's eyes rolled up for a moment, focusing on the ceiling. She did that when she tried to remember important things. Or at least, she had when she was little. Come to think of it, she hadn't done _that_ for a while, either. "Um…I forgot. It's pretty fun, though. Don't you agree?"

"Oh, sure' Mat replied. "The next time I see Doctor Hursh, I'm going to tell him all about what sort of _fun_ it is."

That seemed pretty funny to Rebecca, and she laughed out loud. For a long time. When she was finally finished, the old woman who'd been glaring at them the entire time wore an expression that reminded Rebecca of nothing so much as an ancient fish she'd seen on TV once, and Mat was trying his hardest to sink down into his chair, like he hoped it would swallow him up and hide him from this nightmare.

He let out an explosive sigh of relief when they got off the train and onto the tall, wooden platform about a block from Rebecca's apartment. She'd wanted to stay on the L a bit longer, but now that she was off, she suddenly realized how tired she was. She yawned, loudly, opening her mouth wide enough she felt like her face would split in half.

"If you open that just a little wider, you might fall in" Mat said, sending her a small smile now that they were away from other people. A second later he yawned as well, although not quite as spectacularly as she had. "Now look what you made me do."

A few minutes earlier, Rebecca would have had a reply for that. Now she just yawned again, a little quieter. "That better?"

"A little. Now come, before you fall down in the street. Because I am _not_ carrying you home."

They made it to her apartment building about fifteen minutes later. Mrs. Kaczynski, her landlady, was reading a book in the lobby when they walked in.

"Oh, Rebecca, you are home. I don' see you for two days, and I_ vorry_, and-" Her eyes fell on Mat. "_Oh_, I see" she finished in a tone of voice that said she didn't whatsoever. "You've found yourself a _man_ finally. I keep telling you you need one." She looked between them, then sighed. "But if you spend all your time at his place,_ vhat_ need _vill_ you have of poor little Mrs. Kaczynski?"

Rebecca wasn't giddy anymore; she was just tired. Hurriedly she explained. "Oh, no Mrs. Kaczynski, it's not like that. He's a friend, that's all."

Her landlady just snorted again. "Ah, a _friend_, is he?" She looked over at Mat. "Well, you better take good care of Rebecca. She's a good girl."

Mat smiled uncomfortably. "I know."

"You _better_" Mrs. Kaczynski replied. "_Vere_ I come from, in the old country, we-"

"That's okay, Mrs. Kaczynski" Rebecca said quickly, feeling her face getting redder and redder. "I'm really tired, and-"

Now the smile on her landlady's face was quite a bit more devious. She looked over at Mat. "You better let her _geet_ _some_ sleep. You know she is a police officer, yes?"

"I…I better go" Mat said, looking thoroughly horrified. He turned to Rebecca. "Remember, Emmy's, tonight at eight. Should I come by and make sure you're-"

"No, I think it'd be best if you didn't come back here. Ever."

Mat nodded quickly, in full agreement. "Sounds like a good idea to me. See you later."

Mrs. Kaczynski watched him go, then turned to Rebecca. "You not nice to him. He seem like decent boy…if a _leetle_ short for my taste." She shrugged. "But _theen_, you are short too, no? It could _vork_." She shook her head. "But _vhat_ happened to his face?" She looked over at Rebecca, concerned. "He's not a…_gungster_, is he?"

Rebecca had to think about that for a moment. Then she laughed weakly, imagining Mat running around in a trench coat, having exchanged his P90 for a Thompson submachine gun. "Oh, no, he's not in any gangs. He's a police officer, just like me."

Mrs. Kaczynski nodded, appeased. "Oh. That is good. I think you _vill_ be very happy together."

Rebecca sighed and gave up. She was too tired for this. "Well, I need to go take a shower and sleep for about a year." She looked down at her watch. "But I've only got about three hours, so I guess I'll make the most of it."

Mrs. Kaczynski chuckled, then went back to her book, muttering to herself in Polish. Rebecca hurried upstairs, grabbing a change of clothes from her apartment before heading to the communal shower. She hated the idea of sharing it with everyone else on her floor, but at this hour most tenants were either at work or sleeping off the nigh shift, and she had the entire bathroom to herself.

Back in her room, she set the alarm clock for 7:15 before climbing into bed. If she was really as tired as she felt, it shouldn't take her long to


	4. Conspiracy

Chapter 4: Conspiracy

(CHRIS)

Chris Redfield couldn't help but keep looking down at his watch. He was nervous; he had no idea what he needed to say to his friends. _And if you screw this one up, then you could ruin everything._ He needed to make his pitch to the other STARS (despite differences in organization, he considered Mat one of them without even thinking) perfectly. Otherwise, his whole plan would fall apart.

He kept looking up each and every time someone opened the door. And each and every time, he was disappointed. Two pudgy old men, a very loud family, and a loner with dark hair who looked like he was some sort of janitor all wondered in, but none of his friends.

Then he saw a familiar face outside the window, and for a moment he was confused. _What's_ he _doing here first?_

Brad Vickers made his way inside, nervously, his eyes darting right and left, as if he suspected assassins might leap out from behind the counter and end him. Chris couldn't figure out why the pilot was being paranoid; he hadn't told anybody about his plan, and so far as he knew Brad had no reason to fear for his life. _Maybe he's just always this jumpy._

Brad made his way toward Chris's table a little reluctantly, as if he were afraid Chris was going to rip him apart in the middle of the diner. He flinched back a little when Chris stood up. _Seriously, guy. Chill _out_._

"Hey, Brad" Chris said, smiling as naturally as he could. "Glad you made it."

"Yeah" said Brad, his eyes darting about as he tried to look in every direction at once. "What's this all about?"

"Why don't we wait until the others get here? That way I'll only have to explain this once. And I want to swap stories with the others too, especially Rebecca and Mat." He gestured Brad toward a chair. "I ordered a soda about ten minutes ago, but we can probably flag down another waitress. I figured it might be a good idea to order some food once we're all together; otherwise, we'll stand out."

If Brad kept up his private eye routine, they'd still stand out. Chris kept that to himself, though. Brad was obviously not the most confident individual; there was no reason to be unduly cruel. _And maybe a little paranoia isn't such a bad thing…_

They did manage to attract another waitress: a long legged blonde girl whose eyes ran up and down Chris's rather muscular build when she approached their table. She didn't even seem to notice Brad until he ordered an extremely black cup of coffee. Then, with a last look at Chris, she hurried away.

He was more than a little embarrassed by the whole thing. As it was, Brad wasn't paying much attention, either. He was just staring blankly at the table top, only stopping when his white porcelain mug of coffee arrived; then he started staring down into _that_. What he expected to find there, Chris couldn't begin to guess, and he wasn't about to ask.

The others filed in over the next fifteen minutes: Mat, then Rebecca, then Barry, then finally Jill. It was a little cramped; even though Chris had requested they push two tables together for them, he'd also requested seats toward the back of the diner, nullifying most of the extra space the dual tables gained.

The same waitress came back and took their order. She gave Chris a brief once-over again, then noticed Jill and Rebecca and hurried off. Apparently she wasn't interested in competition. A different server brought out their food, scowling a little when they requested six separate checks.

The talk over their dinner was rather bland and dull. Most of them didn't associate with each other outside of work (and not even that for Mat). They had no common interests, no past conversations to build off. They were all linked by a single, intensely traumatic event.

Chris waited until they were mostly finished eating before he started talking. "So, um…you're probably wondering why you're all here, right?" Brad, Mat, and Rebecca nodded. Barry and Jill didn't; Chris assumed they had already figured it out. For the others, he needed to spell things out. "Umbrella. Something's gotta be done. They can't be allowed to get away this."

Brad just looked confused. "What? What are you talking about? You're saying _Umbrella_ had something to do with that monster on top of the mansion? Umbrella, as in the Umbrella who owns half the town and can get the other half on foreclosure if it tried really hard? The same Umbrella who made Raccoon City what it is? The one that in one way or another employs half the _county_?"

"You weren't there" said Barry. "You didn't see some of the shi-," he looked around, then amended, "_stuff_ we saw. You didn't see any of the documents. And you didn't have Albert Wesker threatening your family if you didn't help him clean up after Umbrella."

Now Brad was _really_ confused. "_Wesker_ was involved?"

Jill nodded. "Yeah. He was on Umbrella's payroll. He was willing to kill all of us if it meant he got his precious combat data."

"He almost killed me twice" Rebecca said quietly.

"What happened to him, anyway?" Jill asked, after blinking at Rebecca's blank statement. "I never did hear."

"That's the other reason I called us here" Chris explained. "No two of us saw exactly the same thing. I figured we'd each have a different story to tell." He looked over at Rebecca and Mat. "You two were out there the longest. Why not start with the day before last?"

Rebecca and Mat exchanged looks, then Rebecca shrugged. "Well, everything went bad pretty much out of the gate…"

Rebecca went on to explain how Bravo team's chopper crashed, and how they'd found the crashed MP jeep soon after. She told them about splitting up and searching the forest for the missing prisoner; about how she'd found Coen, and a zombie infested train, pausing briefly when she told them how Edward had died.

"Damn" Mat said softly. "I was trying to save him when I threw him onto the train. I didn't expect those stupid dogs to follow him."

Barry looked over at Jill. "Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah." She looked over at Rebecca. "Then what?"

"We went back to searching the train. We decided it would probably be a good idea to stop it before it reached its destination. Edward…" Rebecca paused, then moved on. "After that, Billy and I ran into Mat, and…" She told them about getting separated from Mat when they finally managed to stop the train, about thinking he was dead. She told them about exploring the buildings they'd crashed into, and about the leech monsters and other failed Umbrella creations they'd encountered. She told them about the crazed young man they'd run into, the man who had eventually been revealed as Doctor Marcus, the Tyrant virus's creator. "But Billy and I managed to kill him by exposing him to sunlight" she finished.

"Speaking of Coen, whatever happened to him?" Mat asked her suspiciously. Chris got the distinct impression there was more to this than met the eye.

"He was…infected" Rebecca said, after a moment. "He asked me to shoot him before he turned." She pulled something small and metal out of her pocket, setting it on the table. "These are his dog tags. I took them to prove he was dead."

Mat looked down at the small sheets of stamped metal, then over at Rebecca. "Oh. I'm…sorry it came to that. I didn't like him much, but…he kept you alive, didn't he?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah. In the end, he was a good guy after all."  
>Mat looked like he wanted to contradict her, but something in her tone stopped him. Instead he looked at the others. "Well, you've already heard part of my story, but let me see if I can fill in some of the blanks…"<p>

The first thing he did was explain exactly what had happened to Edward. "I'm so sorry, Jill. Edward was a good man. He figured things out before anyone else; he saved my life at least once. I…I wish I could've saved him."

He went on to talk about the Umbrella team he'd encountered in the forest, and the high-tech laboratory they'd been sent in to clean up. He told them about being separated, and how the corporate commandoes had died one by one, until only three were left.

"Chad Kaplan saved me" Mat explained. "He gave his life so we could destroy the Hive and keep Umbrella from ever using it again. If it hadn't been for him, I probably wouldn't be here." He sighed. "I was the only person to make it out of my little adventure too." He looked over at Rebecca. "That's why I kept freaking out about you. I was worried I was going to be alone again. That I was going to be the only member of our little team to survive."

Rebecca smiled faintly. "Well, you don't need to worry. I made it, thanks in no small part to you. And now we're safe."

"Safe" Mat repeated the word. "Yeah, I like the sound of that."

They moved on from there. Rebecca told them about how she and Richard had met and encountered the monster snake. Mat told them about running into Enrico…and the giant monster that had apparently been chasing Mat, Jill, and Barry all over the mansion. Somehow, Chris and Rebecca had missed out on that.

He found out what else he'd missed when Jill told her story. A giant, man eating plant the size of a two story building, for example. Apparently Rebecca had encountered that too; from what they managed to piece together, she'd managed to kill it at its roots, luckily just in time to save Jill and Barry from being fertilizer.

Barry told them about running into Wesker and how the STARS captain had used a fake threat against his wife and daughters to use Barry as his grunt.

Then it was Chris's turn.

"Well," he said with a shrug, "most of the time there was somebody else with me at all times, but I guess I can fill in the parts where people weren't."

He started by explaining how he'd escaped the zombie dogs in the forest, then made his way to Richard's death at the jaws of the monstrous sharks in the aqua ring. Jill put her arm around Rebecca at that point; the STARS rookie was visibly upset at her friend's death.

Chris moved on, to meeting up with Wesker outside the residence. Judging by what Jill had said, that was probably just before the STARS captain had murdered Enrico. He told them about meeting up with Rebecca and Mat again, and about confronting Wesker underground, only to have the Tyrant revive and kill the traitor.

"Tyrant" Brad repeated. "That thing on top of the mansion had a _name_? Like someone made it intentionally?"

"Yeah" Jill said. "That's the point we've been trying to make. Umbrella is making monsters and selling them to the highest bidder. Somebody has to do something about it."

"And who better than us?" Chris asked, looking at the others. "I mean, all of us, even Brad, have seen what these things can do. And we're all trained professionals. Who better qualified to take them down?"

"Sounds good to me" Jill said. "Those bastards killed Edward and Joseph, and a bunch of other innocent people."  
>"Yeah" nodded Barry. "They deserve to be taken down. For Enrico."<p>

"For Richard" Rebecca said quietly.

"I promised Rain I wouldn't stop fighting Umbrella" Mat said. "Count me in."  
>Chris looked over at Brad. "What about you? What do you say?"<p>

Brad looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Well, the first thing I want to do is apologize to you guys. I'm sorry I panicked. I saw Joseph go down, and…Well, I'm sorry I ran away."

Chris shrugged. He'd been mad at the pilot most of the previous night. But when rescue finally came, he found he was just too relieved to be alive to hold any grudges. "You came back, man. That's what counts." Jill and Barry nodded.

Brad looked relieved. "Thanks guess. I was worried you'd hate me."

"It all worked out for the best" Jill said. "If we hadn't gone into the mansion we wouldn't have learned what we did about Umbrella."

Mat nodded. "Yeah. And me and Rebecca would've died back there."

"Now, what do you say?" Chris asked. "Are you in?"

Brad nodded. "I guess so. Let's do this."

**Here it is, the first part of "Before the Storm." Please, review this and let me know what you think. If you like it (and you haven't done so already), add me or the story (if not both) to your favorites. That way you'll get notifications whenever I post something new. Thanks for reading!**


	5. One Month Later

Chapter 5: One Month Later

(MAT)

"-recent tragedies, I must formally announce the disbanding of both Special Tactics and Rescue Service teams, effective immediately." _If Irons sweats any more,_ Mat reflected as he watched the portly police chief on TV, _he'll dry up and blow away._ Chief Irons didn't look especially comfortable in front of all those cameras. Mat didn't particularly care. _Bastard_.

The conference had been announced the day before, when Irons indicated to members of the RPD press pool he was going to make statements regarding his on-going investigation into the STARS teams.

"It seems the stresses were just too great for such a small group of officers to handle" Irons continued. "It is obvious now that a much larger unit would have been much better suited for the task I gave the STARS teams. " He sighed, for all the world like he was actually upset about the ordeal. "The blame for their accidental deaths rests squarely on my shoulders. As such, we will not be pursuing charges against any of the surviving STARS, or the SWAT attaché to Bravo team." He made a grand gesture behind him, to where a large, blank plastic screen hung.

Suddenly it was illuminated, a trio of glowing initials in the center.

SPF

"Thus, starting today, the Raccoon City Police Department will begin accepting applications for the new Select Police Force. Of course, we have already opened the ranks to the best and brightest of the RPD, but we are also sending bulletins to neighboring counties." Irons turned back to face the cameras. "It seems the criteria for the STARS teams were _too_ exacting, and again, I bear the blame for that as well." He smiled. "But the people of Raccoon City have always been able to look forward to a bright future. With your help, we can all continue toward Mayor Warren's dream of a better, safer Raccoon City."

From the camera angle, Mat couldn't see more than the heads of one row of reporters. But given their enthusiastic clapping, he could tell they had bought the Irons' entire speech.

"Idiots" he muttered. Then he shut off the TV. Suddenly, he didn't want to be at home anymore.

Mat's apartment had an outside stairwell, meaning he didn't usually have anything to do with his neighbors. That was how it worked now; he managed to make it to the street without seeing anyone.

He wasn't sure where he was going; he just started walking, hands in his pockets.

He wasn't used to being in his neighborhood in the late afternoon on a weekday. Usually, his shift didn't end until seven or eight o'clock, and then he had a thirty minute subway or L ride home. By the time he made it to his building, night had always already fallen, and everyone was inside.

Now, though, there were people out and about. Kids played on the sidewalks, people only a few years younger than Mat hung out with their buddies or flirted, all under the somewhat disapproving gaze of old men who perched on the steps of their apartment buildings, smoking foul smelling cigarettes.

It was a whole new side to his neighborhood, and one Mat had never expected to see.

He wandered around for a few hours, just walking up and down the block, taking everything in. But soon, it got dark, and he headed home.

Tomorrow, he was going to the RPD building. There was a chance he'd run into one of the STARS, and, of course, he wanted to make sure he still had a job to come back to.

He was having his usual luck with secretaries. The one at the front desk of the RPD building wasn't one he recognized. She also wasn't particularly interested in answering any of his questions.

"But I'm a _cop_" he protested. "Not a reporter. Surely you can tell me-"

The woman cut him off. "All inquiries about STARS are to be met with the same response, as per Chief Irons' orders."

"But I don't _care_ about the investigation" Mat replied, exasperated. "I just want to know if any of them are in the building."

The woman brightened. "Oh, is that all? Their office is on the second floor, near the library. Can you find your way there?"

Mat nodded; he _had_ told her that, from the beginning. "Yeah, I can get there. Thank you _so _much."

His sarcasm slid off the woman and landed on the floor with a dull, wet smack. "You're welcome" she said, smiling briefly before returning to her work. Admitting defeat, Mat headed left.

The processing room he went through was small and rather cramped. Back when the RPD building had been an art museum, it had been a larger, medium sized gallery. Once the police took over, they'd built a windowed receptionist office into one side, cutting the room's square footage in half.

Mat was hurrying through, when a familiar face caught his eye. Hanging from the bulletin board in one corner was a single, white sheet of paper.

_**WANTED:**_

_Ex-Lieutenant Billy Coen_

_Charges range from fleeing justice to multiple homicides._

_Last seen in the vicinity of the Arklay Forest._

_Considered __extremely__ dangerous._

_Approach with caution._

Between the WANTED letterhead and the actual description was what Mat assumed were Coen's mug shots. He shrugged. Rebecca said he was dead back in the forest. Even if he _had_ saved her life, that couldn't ever undo what he'd done in Africa. The man was a mass murder…and apparently, a zombie. Mat couldn't think of a nicer person for that to happen to.

Next to Coen's wanted poster was one of a different sort.

**NEW POSITIONS AVAILABLE!**

_Umbrella Inc__. __Raccoon__ Branch FULL TIME (Includes benefits)._

**WHO ARE WE?**

_As the number one pharmaceutical corporation in the world, we are constantly reaching for new ways to expand and grow._

**WHAT ARE WE LOOKING FOR?**

_We're looking for healthy, dedicated, and single individuals of any race, religion, or sex._

**POSITIONS AVAILABLE:**

_Sales, Service, Production, etc. Requirements: No Experience needed, but you must have a clean bill of health._

_Overseas positions are also available!_

Mat tore his eyes away from the poster and hurried upstairs. _Umbrella's recruiting _here_ now? What the hell?_ He shook his head. And 'No Experience needed'? _Just a clean bill of health? _Mat's eyes widened at his conclusion. _Dear God! Are they looking for _test subjects_?_ Several of the small paper tabs at the bottom of the poster had been removed. If Umbrella was looking for suckers, apparently they'd succeeded.

Mat cast a quick look over his shoulder, to make sure no one was watching him. Then he tore the poster off the bulletin board, folded it up, and stuffed it in his pocket before hurrying through the door, down the narrow hallway beyond, past a briefing room (the same one in which he'd been assigned to STARS, temporarily), around another of the RPD's seemingly limitless blind corners…and almost right into Brad Vickers.

"Ah!" the STARS pilot exclaimed, almost dropping the large cardboard box he held in both hands. The box was crammed full of what, as best Mat could determine, was mostly junk: a reversed desk name plate, a large leather bound folder, an RPD windbreaker (folded neatly into a roll), and a large, plastic helicopter. "Sorry, Dawson. I didn't see you there."

"No, that's okay Brad" Mat replied. "These stupid hallways need mirrors at every corner. Who knows _what_ could be lurking on the other side?"

It took Brad a minute to get the joke. "Er…right." He shifted his grip on the box.

Mat eyed it curiously. "Going somewhere?"

"Uh…no. I just…thought it might be a good idea to clean out my desk, is all."

"Why? We're just on suspension. Irons hasn't fired anybody." _Yet. _Mat didn't add that, but it was there nonetheless. "Why don't you apply for this new Select Police Force he's forming? I'm sure you'd get in without any trouble."

"Uh…thanks. I'll look into that" Brad said, in a tone indicating he'd do no such thing. "Well…"

Mat realized he was trying to ask him to move. "Sorry" he said, stepping aside. "Hang on a minute, if you would."

Brad sent him a look. "This box is _kinda_ heavy."

"Sorry. I was just wondering if you'd heard from Chris. I haven't heard from anyone since we got back. I was beginning to worry."

"No, I haven't. But Jill's upstairs. You could talk to her."

"Thanks, I'll do that." But Mat said that to Brad's back. The STARS pilot was already hurrying down the hallway, as fast as he could.

Mat shook his head. "Weird."

The STARS was upstairs, set into the building's wall, as if Irons had hoped no one would notice it. He'd then turned around and done his best to make this hall memorable to everyone in the RPD, when he'd bawled his poor secretary out for bumping into on of the statues further down. You could hear the man's voice all over the building, and poor Heather Waverly had gone home _shaking_. Mat was surprised she came back to work the next day; he was even more surprised she didn't come back with lawyers in tow.

There was a small plaque next to the door, on which was written **SPECIAL TACTICS AND RESCUE SERVICE**, along with the distorted tri-star that was the STARS emblem.

Mat could hear someone moving around inside, and knocked on the door.

"Forget something?" he heard from inside as the door began to swing open. "Oh, Mat. I thought you were Brad."

Mat shook his head. "No, I think he's trying to get as far away from the RPD as he can. Mind if I come in?"

Jill shrugged. "Sure. It's not like we live here."

The STARS office was the closest thing to a shoebox Mat had ever been inside. It was jam packed: to his right was a large, metal locker while on his left was a bunch of book shelves, one of which held an enormous, precariously placed fax machine. The far left wall was covered by an enormous STARS banner, directly before a single desk. There were four more desks, arranged in twos, each of which was also cluttered. On the far right were a large radio console and another pair of lockers, as well as several boxes of indefinite content.

"Welcome to STARS central" Jill said sarcastically.

Mat took a look around. "How do you guys get anything done?"

"It isn't easy. Except for Wesker, we all had to share desks. Alpha some days, Bravo on others." Jill snorted. "And if you listen to Irons, we all still found the time to get high."

"What? _That's _his story?"

Jill shook her head. "Not officially, but it's showing up in several papers. There were several quotes from your buddy Peyton Welles, in fact. All sorts of stuff about how we're all a bunch of degenerates."

"That's bullshit" Mat said irritably. "I don't know what's going on with the Captain. He's always been a hard ass, but I never would've figured him as a running dog for Irons."

"Which, it turns out, is probably the same as being a running dog for Umbrella" Jill said coldly.

"The Chief's dirty?" Mat asked. Sure, believing Wesker was in Umbrella's pocket (or however that had worked) was one thing; believing the chief of police was also a crook was something else entirely.

Jill nodded. "Yeah. Chris and Barry have been running a little investigation into the RPD. Sort of a 'fuck you' for their investigation of us. Chris has made some inquiries with the FBI; one of the reasons I'm here is in case they fax something back to him."

"Sounds like you've all been busy" Mat said. "So, now I'm wondering. Why didn't anybody say anything to me about this?"

Suddenly, Jill wasn't so forthcoming. "We didn't want to…hurt your career."

"After everything we've been through, could you at least have the decency not to bullshit me?" Mat replied, a little bit irritably. "Is it that you don't trust me, because SWAT is turning into Irons' personal bully boys? C'mon, you know me better that! And if you don't, you could always ask Rebecca. She'll vouch for me."

Jill made a face. "That's…why we didn't talk to you anymore. Brad has made it abundantly clear he doesn't want to have anything to with this. He wants out. He wants to be left alone."

"So? Brad's chicken shit. _I'm_ not. You've seen that yourself."

"It's not that simple" Jill replied. "We figured you and Rebecca didn't want anything to do with this, either. You two were young enough…We understood."

Mat ran a finger down one of the thin scars on his face. "I was young enough to have _this_ happen to me." He snorted. "Umbrella ruined my boyish good looks. Don't you think I'd want pay back?"

Mat was beginning to doubt it if STARS had a sense of humor as his second joke fell flat. "Well, we assumed you and Rebecca were talking, and had decided to stay out."

"Did you ask her?"

Jill shook her head. "We were trying to give you both your dignity. And I think Barry's a little disgusted with all three of you. Honestly, I think he's disgusted with all of us for not storming Umbrella's HQ downtown. He's out for blood."

"So, you haven't talked to her either?"

"No, we-" Jill's eyes narrowed. "Hang on. You mean you haven't heard from Rebecca either? But, you guys are like…childhood buddies or something."

"Yeah" Mat replied. "And I guess I figured you were trying to keep this a STARS only thing. Looks like I was wrong."

"Now what?"

Mat took a breath. "Well, I'll tell you one thing. I'm in, just like I told you earlier. You can count on me. As for her…" He shrugged. "I'll give her a call when I get home."

"Good" said Jill. "And tell her she doesn't need to worry about her stuff. Hell, most of it's not even unpacked. She hasn't been here long. I guess that'll make it easier for her to take it home."

"So you saw the news today too?"

Jill shook her head. "Didn't need to. I've known since your Captain's little display on the helipad STARS was finished. It was just a matter of time." She sighed. "Well, it's been fun. Oh, and I have something else for you, too." She reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a small plastic container. "We found this when we cleaned out Wesker's desk. Bastard had it hidden pretty well, too."

"Why are you giving me this?" Mat asked, accepting the film canister.

"Look at the top."

Mat did. "R. Chambers" he read aloud. "Okay. What do I do with this?"

"Well, I doubt it'll be particularly nutritious" Jill replied, deadpan. "Take it to Kmart or something and get it developed."

"Well yeah, but still. Why me?"

Jill shrugged. "Because you're Rebecca's buddy. Because she's acting weird. And because you came down, and she didn't." She sighed again. "Hell of a thing when I trust you more than I trust one of my own teammates."

"You can trust Rebecca" Mat said immediately.

Jill laughed bitterly. "Just like I trusted Barry. Just like I trusted Wesker. No, I think I'm going to be more careful about that from now on."

"But you don't me that well."

"I've known Rebecca for just as long as I've known you. And unlike you, she's never been in a position to save my life."

"That's not true" Mat replied.

Jill raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"She saved you and Barry from the giant plant-thing-"

"She didn't know that" Jill said quickly.

"-and from Tyrant, on top of the mansion. Granted, I had to save _her_ in turn, but still…I f you can trust me, then you can trust her. She's no more an Umbrella agent than me or Chris."

"There was a time when I thought Chris was our traitor" Jill said quietly. "After Enrico died. I thought he was playing everything from behind the scenes. I thought he'd killed you and Rebecca and the other Bravos, along with Wesker, and was using Barry." She shook her head. "I need a vacation. I'm seeing conspiracies everywhere."

"Even paranoids have enemies."

Jill looked at him. "Thanks, dad."

Mat's face got red. "Sorry."

"No, I mean you sound like my dad. Richard Valentine. Ever heard of him?"

"No. Should I?"

Jill made a face. "What _do_ they teach in police academies toady? My dad was, no, _is_ one of the greatest thieves who ever lived. He was also pragmatic to a fault. He's the reason I'm a cop now, if you can believe it."

"Sure, that makes perfect since" said Mat, a bit more sarcastically than he meant to.

"He taught me most of what I know" Jill explained, not angry. "He wanted me to make something of myself." She gestured around the cramped STARS office. "Look at me now."

"I bet he'd be proud of you."

"He is. I just wish I wasn't gonna end up almost as bad off as him." She shrugged. "Well, you didn't come here to listen to me. Go home and call Rebecca. Figure out what's going on with your little buddy, then let me know."

"How do I-"

"I'm in the phone book, genius."

"Yeah. Sorry." Mat looked around the room. "So, you guys are all taking turns watching this place?"

Jill nodded. "Yeah. At least, that's how it's supposed to work. But Barry's got a family, and he and Chris are both busy with their investigation, so-" She shrugged. "It's not like I've got a social life anymore, right?"

"Hey, I'm sorry about Edward. Like I said a few weeks ago, he was a-"

"Look, I know you're trying to be nice, but I really don't want yet _another_ person to tell me all about what a good guy my dead boyfriend was. I'm fine. And I don't need sympathy."

"Okay" said Mat, taken aback. "Maybe I can come up some time and take over for-"

"That's okay" Jill replied, suddenly irritable. "At least this way I have _something _to do. Everyone else is treating me like a…fucking _little girl_, and it's starting to piss me off."

Mat realized staying much longer would risk harm to his person. "Okay. Well, I'll leave you to it. Thanks for the film." He hurried out, back down stairs, and was out the building's main door in less than five minutes.

Even in Raccoon City, there was a Walgreen's on damn near every corner. The one by Mat's apartment had a 1-hour photo center, so he dropped the film canister off and went home, planning to call Rebecca while he waited.

But things didn't go according to plan. There was someone already on the line when he picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" asked a voice on the other end of the line. Mat had picked up the phone just before it could ring.

"Roy? Is that you?"

There was a pause. "Well, if not, then nobody's told me."

Mat and Roy Jefferson went back to the police academy. They'd been buddies since then, even after they'd been assigned to different precincts: Mat to the old museum building toward the center of town, Roy to the more modern Raven's Gate building.

"Good to hear from you, man. What's up?"

"I could say the same to you, man. I saw you on the news. Some of the stuff they're sayin'…is it really true?"

_You have no idea_. "I can't say. Sorry."

"I understand. You're all sophisticated STARS material now, right? Don't worry, I get it." Before Mat could answer, he pressed on. "Well, I was curious. What are you up to tomorrow night?"

"I had a fun filled evening planned, beginning with a nasty TV dinner, followed by staring at the walls in my apartment, and concluded with falling asleep listening to the TV, all so I can get up in the morning and do it all again. Why?"

"Well, not to interrupt your plans, but I've got a couple tickets to this dirt bike rally I won in a precinct raffle, and I thought you might want to go."

Mat thought about that. It took him about fifteen seconds to make a decision. "Sounds like fun."

He could hear Roy smiling over the phone. "Good. I figured you'd say that. I had a feeling you'd want to get out for a while. So, meet up at your place at seven?"

"Yeah. You still driving that damn pinko car?"

Roy's Yugo was something of a legend from their academy days, but with parking so expensive in Raccoon City, owning any kind of vehicle was a luxury most cops couldn't afford.

"Yeah, I still have Khrushchev. I'll be by at about seven. See you then?"

"Yeah, sounds good."

"Great, see you then."

Mat hung up, then tried to call Rebecca…only to realize he didn't know her number. A few minutes ruffling through Raccoon City's Yellow Pages (which was like reading a…phone book), he managed to hunt it down. He punched in the number, and got…nothing.

Mat shrugged. _Maybe she's out._ And like Mat, she had an answering machine. He left her a quick message, telling her he was worried about her and asking her to call him back, before hanging up and checking the clock. _Great._

He was fifteen minutes late for the photo. The clerk gave him an irritated look.

"You didn't give us any contact info" he said sternly, in tones that said if that weren't a Biblical sin, it should've been. "We would've thrown your pictures away at closing." Clearly, a fate worse than death.

"What do I owe you?"

The clerk told him. Mat grumbled to himself, then handed over a couple of crumpled bills. The man reached under the counter, then handed over a small, wax paper envelope. "Thank you for choosing Walgreen's" he said, suddenly cheerful.

Mat went home, unsure what he'd find inside. The film had been inside Wesker's office. Wesker worked for Umbrella. Jill was concerned Rebecca might too. Mat knew that was crazy, but…

There was only one picture inside. When Mat saw it, he let out a sigh of relief. "Thank God" he muttered. "She's clean."

Then he had a sudden feeling of revulsion as he looked down at Rebecca, dressed for what appeared to have been an RPD basketball game. What was it doing in Wesker's desk?

"What a fucking creep" he muttered, throwing the picture away.

Then he looked up. The little red light on his answering machine was flashing. He rolled his eyes. Of course, someone _would_ call when he wasn't at home. Stepping forward, he pushed the button.

"Hello? Mat? It's Rebecca." She paused, as if she wasn't sure what to say next. "I…uh, I need to talk to you. Saturday afternoon, at that park by the hospital in St. Michael's? I, uh, I'll see you there. Bye."

Mat stood there for a moment, staring at the phone. Then he did a quick check of his mental calendar. Not having to go to work in the morning was seriously screwing with his ability to keep track of the days, but if he remembered right, today was Thursday, so…

"Two days from now, I'll get some answers." He could hardly wait.


	6. Leads and Leavings

Chapter 6:

Leads and Leavings

(CHRIS)

It was a bright Summer day. July had come and gone, and September was on its way. Stuck in the middle was August, but nobody really seemed to care about August.

Standing alone on the side walk outside Jill's apartment, Chris could appreciate that feeling. He'd tried talking to a few of his RPD buddies about had happened in the Arklay Forest, but nobody had returned his calls. Either they thought he was crazy, or Irons had already gotten to them. Either way, it meant no one was listening.

No one, at least, in Raccoon City.

Chris had been spending a lot of time on the internet lately, trying to dig up anything he could on Umbrella. With the Arklay Mansion up in flames, all evidence of the company's wrongdoings had also been lost. If they were going to bring the pharmaceutical megacorp down, then they'd have to start from scratch.

He'd learned a little about the corporation's foundation. Only one of the original three founding members, James Marcus, had been American; in fact, he'd grown up around these parts…back in the 1920's. The young Marcus had been quite the gifted scientist, and had gone off to college, where he met Oswell Spencer and Edward Ashford. The two had traveled the globe, according to the company's website in order to get a look at the third world, so they could "use their knowledge for the benefit of all mankind." Chris snorted at that, but had kept reading.

The website got a little vague after that. Apparently, Marcus has died in a lab accident during the late 80's, and Umbrella had shifted much of its major operations overseas, into France, Spain, and Western Germany. Although the company still maintained a large office in Raccoon City, their board of directors and much of their staff was based in Paris.

Chris pieced together a little from what Rebecca and Mat had told him. Umbrella had Marcus murdered, then turned his zombie-making research over to someone else; someone who clearly was somewhat incompetent if things had gotten out of hand this badly. They'd abandoned Marcus' old labs, building two new facilities: one beneath Spencer's old mansion in the forest, the other a high tech facility…underneath another derelict estate. Whatever else could be said about Umbrella, they weren't the most creative people in the world.

At some point a few weeks ago, Marcus had revived _somehow_ (Rebecca didn't seem sure how) , releasing some of his old pets into the Arklay Forest, starting the cannibal murder scare and subsequent investigation. The rest was just extremely bloody, extremely terrifying history.

Realizing he wasn't going to make any headway within the RPD, Chris had reached out on the net. Surely _someone, _somewhere was also gunning for Umbrella.

It turned out, there was. And now Chris had to go. There was a chance he could put his experience to good use, and actually _do_ something. That was better than sitting around at home, wasn't it?

Jill's voice intruded on his thoughts. "I'll have you know, you interrupted a very long, very thoroughly planned out day of boredom" she said, her tone mockingly serious. "This had better be good."

"Oh, it is" Chris replied. He gestured down the sidewalk. "Walk with me."

They started off, down the sidewalk, stepping out of the way to avoid old people out for a midday jog, plus the occasional biker and the odd group of tourists. Chris was confused by that. Raccoon City was only that to someone who'd never seen a real metropolis; Chris, used to Denver, was always less than impressed. Still, Raccoon City was where the yokels from the surrounding mountain towns could come and gawk. He was just never sure what they found time to do, besides stare at the "city" folk.

He was having a hard time not staring at a particular member of the city folk himself. He'd not paid much attention before, but now it was all but slapping him in the face. Jill was, not to be too blunt…_hot_. He'd never seen her much outside of work, and police uniforms weren't the most attractive attire in the world, but…

Jill was wearing a t-shirt and jeans; not exactly alluring clothing, either. But she was filling them in ways Chris never would've imagined. And he wasn't the only one noticing, either. An old man, a guy with hair wispy, white, and almost completely gone, was paying so much attention to Jill he almost introduced his face to a street sign, course correcting at the last second.

"I assume you asked me out here for purposes other than getting me leered at" Jill said dryly.

"Er...right" Chris said uncomfortably. "Well, I've been looking into Umbrella."

"I know."

"On the internet."

"I know."

"Well, I've pinpointed their headquarters. They're over in Paris."

Jill turned to face him. "_Oh_kay. So what? You aren't planning a frontal assault, are you?"

"Well, sort of…"

Jill laughed. Then she punched his arm. "You're an idiot, Chris. How are you supposed to pull that off?"

"Well, it won't just be me" he said quickly, trying to rally. He hadn't expected Jill to laugh at him. "I met this guy on the internet, and-"

"Are you sure?"

Chris blinked. "Well, I've been talking to him for about a week now, and-"

"No, I mean, are you sure he's a guy?" Jill asked. "People on the net aren't always the gender they claim to be. Don't…don't ask how I know that."

"I'll do my best to pretend I didn't hear that."

"You'd better" Jill warned. "Otherwise, I might have to do…something."

"To me, or with me?" Chris had meant that as a joke, but judging by the look on Jill's face, he'd gone a little too far. "Sorry, it just kinda…"

She shook her head. "No, it's okay." She smiled mischievously. "And you have a very dirty mind. Just so you know."  
>Now it was Chris's turn to make a face. "<em>Any<em>way, back to this guy-"

"This individual who _claims_ he's a guy" Jill corrected. "You never know until you actually meet them in person, and even _then-_"

"He calls himself Trapper" Chris continued, ignoring Jill. "He says he's a part of a larger network spanning the globe, dedicated to stopping Umbrella. And he's very interested in a meeting."

"Great" said Jill. "I'd like to meet your cyber boyfriend too. When's his plane get in?"

"Well, that's the thing" Chris said, treading carefully. "He's not coming here."

"Then how-"

"He's in England. And he wants to meet on his home turf. After all, I could be an Umbrella plant sent to whack him."

Jill wasn't flippant now. "Chris, for all you know _he's_ a plant! He could be trying to lure you over there to kill you. This is a really, really bad idea."

"Well, I was hoping that I…wouldn't be going alone."

Jill snorted. "Who are you going to take? Barry? Good luck. He may be out for Umbrella's blood, but he's also tethered himself to his family. You'll have a hard time convincing him to leave and fly all the way to _Europe_. Jeez! Did you think this through at all?"

"It wasn't Barry I had in mind."

Jill blinked at that. "Oh."

Chris nodded. "Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Whaddya say?"

"Well, I don't know…When are you leaving?"

Chris let that breath he'd just taken out explosively. "Tomorrow."

He'd expected an outburst. "Oh" was all Jill said at first. "That doesn't give me much time to put my affairs in order, does it?"

"No" Chris said. "Sorry, but…this whole thing's happened a little fast."

"A little too fast, I think" Jill said. "I…I can't, Chris. I'm sorry, but it just won't work. Right now, I need to be here to sit on the STARS office."

"What about Barry?"

"I already told you. He's out of his mind at the moment. He's playing Lassie with his family. Honestly, I don't blame him. But he's not really a functioning member of the team right now."

"Brad?"

"Brad checked out yesterday. He's out of this, for good."

"Damn" Chris muttered. "Isn't there anybody?"

"Mat. He came by, oddly enough right after Brad left. He said he wants in on whatever you're up to. You could probably get him to go."

Chris shook his head. "No, I don't want to bring him into this yet. He'll probably want Rebecca to come too, and I think those poor kids have both been through enough."

Jill nodded. "You're probably right." She sighed. "Well, I'm sorry Chris. We're all kind of letting you down."

_Just a little_. Chris felt like the wind had been taken out of sails. No, he felt like someone had punched a hole in his sails with a shotgun, or maybe a bazooka…"Well, that's okay. Maybe it'll work out for the best. After all, if this _is_ a trap, it wouldn't be a good idea for us to put all our eggs in one basket, would it?"

Jill nodded. "Still, I don't like the idea of you going in without anyone to watch your back."

Chris smiled. "Jill Valentine, are you _worried_ about me?"

Jill didn't meet his eyes. "A little" she said quietly.

_Bingo!_ he though happily, then cursed himself a second later. _Knock that off! She's Edward's girl, and…_

_Edward's dead. There's nothing wrong with…whatever this is._

"Well, don't be" he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I made it through the mansion, didn't I? I can survive this too."  
>Jill smiled. "You'd better. I'll be very disappointed if I was waiting for you to get back for nothing."<p>

"You're…_waiting _for me?"

Jill grinned mischievously. "Don't get your hopes up, flyboy. But…yeah. I think I will be." She made a shooing motion. "Now, unless you have something else you'd like to say, I suggest you go home and pack."

Chris _did_ have something else he wanted to say; several somethings, in fact. But somehow, nothing seemed appropriate. "Okay. Thanks for hearing me out."

Jill shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry I couldn't go with you. Don't worry, I'll hold the fort down here. If things work out, maybe I'll come join you."

"I…I'd like that." Chris managed. Then they turned and went their separate ways.

Chris took Jill's advice and hurried home to pack. He had already been excited about meeting this Trapper guy. Now he had a reason to be anxious to come home, too.


	7. Rally

Chapter 7: Rally

(MAT)

Mat didn't really get racing. To him, watching a bunch of people make left turns really, really fast was about as interesting as a fishing show.

But he spent all day looking forward to it regardless.

There were two reasons. One, the most practical, was that he honestly didn't have anything better to do. At all. Any excuse to get him out of the house was good enough for him.

Two, he hadn't seen Roy Jefferson in almost a year. The two had been good buddies back at the Academy, but since they'd been assigned to opposite sides of town, the two hadn't ever had the opportunity to hang out.

He found himself unconsciously looking at the clock several times throughout the door. The third time he caught himself, he made a face. _Jeez, you'd think you had a date tonight_…

That led to a whole other train of thought. Namely, he hadn't _had_ a date since before moving into Raccoon City. He hadn't gone to college, preferring instead the quicker route through the Police Academy. He was young for that, and younger still within the RPD. Most officers were older than he was, and he'd never been into older women…_Well, maybe I'll meet someone tonight._ He snorted. _That_ was a pretty funny thought.

When seven PM rolled around, he was ready to go. When seven ten arrived, he was a little impatient. Roy didn't show up until seven fifteen, and then Mat remembered how his friend had been late most of the time he'd known the other cop.

The Yugo was just as cramped as Mat remembered; that made sense, since he hadn't gotten taller since he'd last ridden in it. Mat hadn't gotten taller since sophomore year of high school, but he didn't like to dwell on that.

"You're growing your hair out" Roy commented as Mat climbed inside.

He nodded. "Yeah. Just, wanted to see what it looks like." For the first time in his life, he didn't have someone telling him to get it cut. He figured _what the hell?_ If he wasn't on the RPD's payroll, then its standards didn't apply to him, did they?

Roy snorted. "Fair enough. So, what have you been up to?"

He and Roy talked most of the fifteen minute drive out of town, accomplishing most of their catching up. They talked about the same things they had back at the Academy; it was as if nothing had changed.

Mat remembered trying to talk to Rebecca when she first moved to Raccoon City. It had been…different was the best word he could come up with. Their lives had diverted so drastically, they didn't have as much in common as they used to. Were it no for the mansion, they probably wouldn't have remained friends. There was no animosity, there were just…different was, again, the word that best fit.

_I need more friends_ Mat realized. He had a few people he'd met at Game-X-Change who he played _Quake_ with, but they didn't really know each other very well. He had his coworkers, the members of his SWAT team…all of whom were at least five years older than him. He had Rebecca…now, but again, they hadn't really reconnected as well as they might have. And now he had Roy.

_That's two. Wonderful._

The track was on the edge of town; a large, extremely well lit stretch of dirt, with some very temporary looking stands erected on either side. Mat realized whatever his preconceptions about auto-racing may have been, dirt biking was a totally different beast.

For one thing, the track wasn't a large donut. Instead, it looped and doubled in on itself, like intestines. There were actual _hills_, too, and even a decently sized jump.

"Ever been to one of these before?" Roy asked.

Mat shook his head.

"Well, I promise you won't be disappointed."

He led Mat over to the stands, which were still every bit as rickety looking now that he saw them up close. Climbing them was the last thing he wanted to do, but he did, wincing every time the rotten floorboards creaked.

He'd eaten at home, but he didn't say no when a vendor passed by and offered he and Roy popcorn.

Roy declined, then looked at Mat like he was about to eat French-fried baby. "You _do_ know what's in that, right?"

"Yeah" said Mat, around a mouthful of popcorn. "There's corn, and…corn, and, uh-"

"Enough cheese to back you up for a month, and enough grease to stop your heart _long_ before then."

"You worry too much" Mat said, popping more of the exploded kernels into his mouth.

"Well, I plan to live to the ripe old age of a hundred and twenty" Roy answered. "And I won't, eating crap like that."

Mat was about to reply, but the announcer cut him off. "Ladies and gentlemen" he began, causing Mat to snort. A lot of the men here might have just as easily been back in a Lay-Z-Boy, watching football, and half the women dressed as if their company was paid for by the hour. "We are about to start our engines, but first, please let us have a moment of silence."

"Moment of silence?"

Roy sighed disgustedly. "We used to pray at these things. Political Correctness strikes again."

Most of the racers weren't paying much attention to the announcer, gesturing to each other in ways that were obviously obscene. _Non-verbal trash talking_ Mat realized, a part of him taking notes.

Then he noticed one racer who was taking advantage of the quiet. He was a little guy, even smaller than Mat, in a red and white racing uniform. The word WALKER was written across his back. He had his head bowed, and Mat suspected the guy really _was_ praying; with his helmet on, nobody would know.

Then the moment was over, and Walker mounted his bike along with the other racers.

"On your mark, get set, -" _Go_ was drowned out by the sudden release of almost two dozen dirt bikes, all suddenly accelerating at once.

Walker made it to the start of the pack in a hurry. Mat remembered his grandpa telling him that was a bad idea in horse racing, but judging by the announcer's excited shouts, that clearly didn't matter here. Mat figured out why a second later; dirt bikes, after all, didn't get tired.

They also didn't care if they rammed you into a wall, as one biker found out the hard way, slamming up against the dirt embankment. He let go of his bike, which kept going for a few feet, unseating someone else before running out of momentum. The second biker hurried to the first, but clearly not to see if he was okay. They started shouting at each other even as other bikes roared past, some dangerously close.

Mat looked back to the race, where several bikes, Walker two back from the lead, were coming over one hill. The bikes were airborne for about half a second, but it was half a second during which Mat felt like his heart had stopped, watching as they came back down, none loosing their balance or flipping. One, the one in second place, did fonder a little in the dirt, wobbling briefly from side to side. Walker zipped ahead of him, gaining on the leader.

The two bikers dueled for most of the race, not changing positions for the next two laps. Then, just before the jump, Walker increased his throttle, flying higher into the air than the bike in front of him. He landed, a few seconds later…in first. Making a turn nearly horizontal, he managed to keep his lead, crossing the finish line in first.

The track didn't sport a jumbotron, the way a more advanced, more expensive one might have. Instead, it had its rather pitiful announcer, who was shouting at the top of his lungs. But even with his microphone, he was like a boy trying to do a man's job; inaudible over the crowd.

Walker dismounted his bike, waving to the stands, and took of his helmet. Mat stopped cheering a second later, staring in disbelief as several strands of dirt blonde hair spilled out down Walker's back.

Roy looked over and saw his friend's confusion. "Yeah, I didn't realize Walker was a girl, either, the first time I came. She won that time, too. She's pretty good, don't you think?"

Mat nodded lamely.

Roy laughed. "She's pretty _pretty_, too, huh?"

"Yeah" Mat said quietly.

"Wanna go down and say hi?"

Mat looked at him in confusion. "What? You mean, you know her?"

Roy grinned. "Yeah. I didn't realize it at first, but she goes to my church. So Whaddya say?

Mat shook his head. "Maybe some…other time."

Roy shrugged, smiling in a way that made Mat just a little uncomfortable. "Fair enough. Some other time."

He didn't say anything else about it until they were already on their way back to Mat's apartment. "Say, we're doing a thing tomorrow night with my church. Would you be interested?" He grinned like that cat from the Disney cartoon. "I'll bet Elza will be there."

"Uh…sure. What are you doing?"

"Well, we get together and play games and stuff. Hang out and talk. You know, normal stuff."

Mat didn't know; he wasn't used to being around people his own age. "Sounds like fun. Would it be okay if I asked someone else, too?"

"Who?"

"My friend Rebecca. It sounds like something she might be interested in."

Roy looked at him like he was some sort of bottom dweller. "You're bringing one girl to an event, where you hope to meet _another_ girl…"

"Oh, no, it's not like that" Mat said hurriedly. "She's been my best friend since forever. She's a cop too."

Roy shrugged. "Well, I guess that couldn't hurt, then. So, tomorrow night at eight?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah. Let me talk to Rebecca, and then I'll get back to you. Where is it?"

"At the Rec. Center in Greenway."

Mat nodded. "I know where that is. I can probably get there on my own, too."

Roy shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I can come get you and your friend. It's not big deal."

"Surely I can at least pay for gas, or-"

"No, don't worry about it. It'll be good to see you again. I missed hanging out with you."

Mat nodded. "Yeah…me too."

He got home at about ten. Immediately he changed clothes, planning to wash his smelly, cigarette scented clothes as soon as he got the chance. Then he took a shower, something he didn't usually do at night, and went to bed. Tomorrow, he was going to meet with Rebecca, and then there was this thing with Roy.

_At least I'm not bored anymore_ was his last thought before he fell asleep.


	8. Crows on the Fence

Chapter 8: Crows on the Fence

(BARRY)

"But _why_, Daddy? It's _Friday_! We have _school_ today!" The voice belonged to Polly. She was the loud one; unlike Moira, her twin sister, who preferred to view the world through wide-eyed silence. She took after her father there; Polly was very much her mother's daughter.

Barry snorted, doing his best to keep his voice cheerful. "School? _Pah!_ You don't need school. What you need is-"

"But you said we had to go to school to get smarter" Polly interrupted accusingly. She'd always hated school; often times getting her up on a week day was somewhere between a root canal and an air raid. "Now you're saying we-"

"Listen to Dad" Moira said, irritably. Both Polly and her father stopped to look at her in confusion. That tone of voice was one she'd never used before. _She's turning into her mother_ Barry realized.

Kathy was packing in the bedroom. Barry had already explained things to her. His wife of ten years wasn't happy about things, but she understood.

He couldn't use the same tactic on his daughters, though. He'd just scare them unnecessarily.

"C'mon" he tried instead. "Doesn't visiting Uncle Kenneth sound like fun?"

"No" Polly said, her lower lip sticking out like a balcony. "There's nothing to do there. He lives all the way up in-in…_Saskatchewan_."

Barry paused a moment to be impressed his seven-year-old daughter had managed the complicated India word. "But you girls need some fresh air. All this pollution in this city isn't any good for you. You need wide open areas to run around in."

"But-but" Polly said, trying her hardest to put together a good argument, or really an argument of any kind. "All our friends are here" she finally managed.

"Well, I'll bet you'll make some new friends up in Canada" Barry said, almost on the verge of desperation. He was glad Moira was going along with everything. If both his daughters tag-teamed him, he'd have a really hard time. As it was… "And it doesn't matter. Your mother and I decided this was best, so-"

"This isn't _fair_!" whined Polly, stalking off to her room. Barry rolled his eyes. _She's going to be _so_ much fun when she turns thirteen_…

He looked down at Moira. "You're awfully quiet today."

His daughter just looked up at him with her big, dark eyes. In Polly, they were wide with innocence. With Moira, Barry was more inclined to believe they were meant to take in as much of the world as possible.

"Well?" he asked. "What's up, little one?"

Moira took a deep breath, like she was trying to calm her nerves. Barry braced himself. _Now what?_

"I…I heard you and Mom talking a few weeks ago" she said finally. "I know…what happened. In the forest."

Barry knelt down beside her. "Oh, Jesus. Honey, how long-?"

"Since the day after you got back" she said. "I heard you and Mom talking, in your family. But," she said hurriedly, "I didn't tell Polly."

Barry smiled. "That's my girl."

"So…you're not mad at me?"

Barry shook his head. "No, I'm not mad." He shrugged. "At your age, I probably would've done the same thing." He made his face stern. "But that doesn't make it okay. I don't want you to do that again, okay?"

Moira nodded solemnly. "Okay."

Barry smiled again. "Good. Now, why don't you go help your mom pack?"

Moira smiled back up at him. "Okay!" she said, hurrying off.

Barry shook his head. _That girl is gonna be dangerous when she gets older_.

Then there was a knock at the door, and he looked up. "I'll get it!" he called out, stepping forward.

He got there just after there was another, more insistent knock at the door. "I'm moving as fast as I-Chris!" he exclaimed when he opened the door, only to find the STARS marksman standing on the porch. "Come in!" he said quickly, gesturing toward the living room.

"Oh, that's okay, I was just-" Barry didn't let him finish; he just grabbed his friend's arm and dragged him forcefully inside. "Barry, what the-?"

"Sorry, Chris, but there are crows on the fence."

Now Chris was really confused. Barry wasn't surprised; he'd read Max Alan Collins' _Road to Perdition_ a few months back, but doubted graphic novels were Chris's thing. Instead, he gestured toward the door. "Take a look through the peephole, and tell me what you see."

Chris still looked at Barry in confusion, but did as he was told.

"Well?"

"A neighborhood? I dunno what you're getting at-"

"Black SUV, right across the street. Partially tinted windows. See it?"

"Yeah" Chris said slowly. "What about it?"

"It's parked in front of the Nielsens'. Haven't seen them in a couple weeks. As in, one day they just didn't come home."

Chris looked over at Barry, confused. "What are you saying?"

"That SUV over there is holding Umbrella agents, sent here to spy on me. Crows on the fence. And I'll bet if you went over to the Nielsens', you'd find them and their teenage daughter dead at home…if you found them at all."

"Jesus" Chris said softly. "What are you going to do?"

Barry looked over his shoulder. "Me? I'm getting my family the hell out of here. I'm sending them…well, what you don't know, they can't drag out of you."

"You're…you're serious about this, aren't you?"

"As a heart attack. Now, what did you come all the way over here for?"

"I've made contact with a group in Europe. Over in England. Tomorrow, I'm flying over to meet their leader."

Barry nodded. "Sounds like a good start. Thanks for the heads up. Are you going alone, or-?"

Chris nodded. "It's just me. And I brought you something." He pulled something out of his waistband and handed it over.

Barry took the Samurai Edge, turning it over in his hands. "Why are you giving me this?"

Chris smiled. "Where I'm going, I won't need it. Hopefully, Trapper will be able to set me up with a replacement. I want you to hold onto that for me. I like that gun, and I don't want to lose it."

Barry nodded. "I'll take good care of it. Good luck."

"Thanks" said Chris. "You too, man."

Chris let himself out. Barry turned the weapon over in his large hands, then (after making sure the safety was on) stuffed it into the large pockets of his cargo pants.

"Who was that?" Kathy asked from their bedroom.

"Nobody, dear. Just…nothing. Are we ready to go?"

"Just about" his wife replied. "This would go a lot faster if you were here helping."

"Coming" he said, hurrying back to their bedroom. The sooner they got packed, the sooner they could leave. Somehow, that seemed _very_ important to Barry.

**Okay folks, you know the drill. Please review this particular section. Add the story if you liked it and want to get notifications when I update it. Thanks for reading!**

**-Godzillafan93**


	9. Discarded Shield

Chapter 9: Discarded Shield

(MAT)

There was someone knocking on his door. Mat's first thought wasn't particularly coherent. He managed to wonder what was going on with his second. The knocking continued as he made his way to the door, more and more confused when he saw that it was still dark outside.

"This had better be-Chris!" he exclaimed, blinking at the STARS marksman. "What are you doing here," he paused, glancing at his microwave, "at five in the morning?"

"My flight leaves at six" he replied. "Can I come in?"

Mat shrugged. "Uh…sure?"

Chris stepped in, looking around at Mat's apartment. "Nice place."

Mat shrugged. It was small, but he didn't really mind. He ate in the living room and he slept in the only other room. There wasn't much furniture; just a ratty couch. He had his N64 and a few books. He didn't really mind.

"You wanna sit down?" he offered.

Chris shook his head. "No, I can't stay long. I just wanted to let you know I'm taking off. It's just gonna be you and Jill in Raccoon City. Barry's taking his family out too; I don't know where they're going."

"Where are you going?" Mat asked, wishing he were a bit more awake. Something important was happening, and he was having a hard time focusing.

"Europe" Chris replied. He didn't look like he wanted to give more, but added "I made contact with an anti-Umbrella group. We're gonna meet, and see what happens after that. At some point, I might bring you and Jill in. If you're interested."  
>Mat nodded. "Count me in. This people need to be taken down."<br>Chris smiled. "Glad to hear it. We'll hold off on that, though. I need to know something else. Do you have a weapon? I know they took your handgun and the P90, but do you have anything else?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah. Captain Enrico gave me his magnum before he-the last time I saw him. "

Chris looked at him, a little confused. "Magnum? You mean the .45? That's not a magnum. It doesn't pack much more punch than your Browning. But you held onto it?"

Mat nodded. "Yeah. Why?"

Chris didn't answer. "Do you keep it loaded?"

Mat shook his head. "No, I don't have a reason to keep ACP at the house. I've got about a hundred-fifty nine-mil, and twice that in five-seven, but nothing for the mag-the .45."

"Well, I suggest you get your hands on a couple magazines worth."

"Why?"

Chris sighed. "Barry has people watching his house. It's why he's moving his family out. He thinks they're with Umbrella, and he's concerned they might be interested in doing more than observation."

Mat nodded. "Okay. I'll look into that. Did you tell Jill and Rebecca?"

Chris shrugged. "Jill has a concealed carry permit for her Samurai Edge, and I've never seen her without it. As for Rebecca…I haven't talked to her since that night at Emmy's."

"Well, it's a good thing you came to see me, then, isn't it?" Mat asked, rhetorical in his irritation. "I can tell her, since none of you seem capable of contacting her."

Now it was Chris's turn to get angry. "Do you think we haven't tried? She wasn't returning our calls."

Now Mat was confused. "Huh. I wonder why."

Chris shrugged. "Well, you can ask her when you see her. If you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch."

Mat looked at him in confusion. "You can't fly to Europe from Colorado…"

"_No_" said Chris, somewhat impatiently. "But I can fly to St. Luis, and from _there_ to England."

"Ah" said Mat; it made a bit more sense now. "Well, enjoy your…flights."  
>Chris laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah. Eighteen hours. <em>What<em> fun."

He didn't have much to do most of the day. It was Saturday, a day he normally would have worked…this suspension was driving him insane.

He tried messing around with _Quake_. He wasn't much of a gamer; usually he played with other people, not by himself, but it was _something_ to do.

He mowed down wave after wave of incredibly stupid AI, blasting them out of his way with a fully automatic nail gun. He brute-forced his way through the first few levels, his mind sinking into the rather flat graphics.

Then he found himself in a small, darkly brown room, a large spinning tube in front of him. He edged the thumb stick forward, collecting the grenade launcher, then rounded a corner…and froze.

Standing there, swaying lazily from side to side, were three vaguely defined yet unmistakable forms. Mat froze, his face going white, as he remembered.

_A badly mauled hunter slowly staggering toward him._

_ Two slimy men in riot gear leveling MP5s at Rebecca, Coen, and himself._

_ The bloody MP eating poor Kevin's body._

_ Forest Speyer rushing forward, mouth open wide._

Mat came back to himself, shuddering. On the TV, his point of view was now trained on the ceiling. A message scrolled across the screen.

PLAYER JOINS THE ZOMBIES

Mat respawned, then saved his game. The word NECROPOLIS appeared on his save file.

"I think that's enough of _that_ for one day" he muttered to himself. He looked over at the clock. He'd managed to kill about two hours. That left him with…

"Too much free time" he muttered, flipping the power switch on his N64, then shutting off the TV. There wasn't anything good on, anyway.

He missed work. Really, _really_ unhealthily missed it. His grandpa was always telling him how idleness was next to laziness, but up to now he'd never believed it. He needed _something_ important, or at least useful, to do.

Then he remembered what Chris had told him. He changed clothes, pulled on his only non-RPD jacket, then headed out.

There weren't many places in his neighborhood where he could buy ammunition. Eventually he found one; a small, corner pawn shop called Dan's.

The man behind the counter of Dan's, possibly Dan himself, was the personification of his store: a short, pudgy, nondescript man with a somewhat seedy appearance and eyes that didn't seem to ever be looking in the exact same direction twice.

"Welcome!" he called out when Mat walked inside, his surprisingly loud voice filling the small store.

Mat waved faintly, then hurried into the rows of nose-high shelves, his eyes scanning through the various boxes of ammunition. The boxes appeared to be color-coded: red for 9mm, a dark blue for .32. There were a few larger, metal boxes of 12-gauge shotgun shells, long containers of rifle bullets, and even two yellow boxes of .50 handgun ammo.

"Ah!" Mat said softly, finding a stack of small, red and black boxes at almost ankle-level. .45 ACP they read in large, important looking script. Mat collected two, then made his way back to the counter.

There were several racks hanging behind the counter, on which were mounted all manner of guns. Mat everything from Micro Uzis to MP5s to the rather ludicrous PS90, the civilian variant of his SMG, complete with its ridiculously long barrel. He thought the semi-auto version looked like Pinocchio.

Hanging with the submachine guns were a pair of modified .22 M-16s, a Stoeger Uplander over/under shotgun, and what looked to Mat like an honest-to-God Barret .50 anti materiel rifle.

"What are ya buyin'?" the shopkeeper asked the little man behind the counter. Mat laid out the two boxes of handgun ammo. "Ah!" he said, ringing them up on a small, old fashioned cash register. The price popped up on the small screen; not a digital display, but actual plastic characters that popped up like extremely flat prairie dogs.

Mat fished out his wallet, handing over several bills, then collecting his change. The shopkeeper chuckled, making the bills disappear rather than putting them into the register. He _did_ pull Mat's change out of it, though, handing over a dollar twenty-five. "Thank you" he said, his voice the thick growl of a smoker.

Mat hurried away, out the door. The guy gave him the creeps.

"Come back anytime!" he heard the shopkeeper call out after him. He had no intention of doing so.

He got home and counted out his purchase. He had one hundred rounds ACP…and a single, seven round magazine. He recharged that, then locked back the slide on the M1911 and loaded a final round directly into the chamber. That gave him eight shots for the handgun, which was…not great, but better than nothing. He missed his Browning. The 9mm had twice the capacity, and was much easier to shoot. The Colt might not have been a magnum, but it sure kicked like one. He could see why the Army didn't use it anymore.

He put the M1911 back in his closet, next to Rain's knife, slid the ACP rounds into his dresser, next to his other bullets, then fixed lunch for himself. He managed to lunch into an hour and half, mostly because he turned on the TV and ate _very_ slowly, but he still found himself with a couple hours to kill before he was supposed to meet Rebecca.

He was out of ideas at that point, and bored beyond belief. He was also tired of staring at the four walls of his apartment. With a last, somewhat irritated look around, he headed back out.

(REBECCA)

Rebecca was enjoying her suspension, or at least as much as someone in her position _could_. She had more time for herself. She spent most of it reading, more often than not from her Bible, something she felt guilty for not finding the time for before. She'd also taken up jogging. Her asthma attack in the mansion, while timely, had convinced her she needed to be in better shape. A couple, or maybe more than a couple, circuits around her block took care of that for her.

A few people said hello to her as she passed. She replied in kind now; when she'd first started, she hadn't had the extra air for something as trivial as talking.

September was colder this year than she remembered it being. Of course, it could just have been that she hadn't been living here last fall, and she hadn't yet experienced the mountain winters. She suspected she was going to be in for a fun time. She'd stopped wearing shorts when she ran; now she had on a pair of grey sweat pants she almost managed to disappear into. The locals all wore shorts and t-shirts still, and acted as if fifty degrees Fahrenheit wasn't all that cold. Rebecca, used to climes farther west than Colorado, didn't agree.

There were lots of people out today. It was the weekend, she realized after she saw several school age children playing basketball on a vacant lot. They ran around in shorts and loose jerseys, the girls' shorts making Rebecca's legs cold just looking at them.

She rounded the corner, then paused, checking her pulse. Her heart was pumping fast enough she had a hard time counting individual beats, so she decided to slow down a little and walk. She checked her watch. It wasn't like she didn't have time…

She rounded a corner, glancing down at her watch again. She'd wait another five minutes, then start back up again.

She looked up, immediately noticing that someone was watching her. A taller man, almost six feet, with broad shoulders and dark, messy hair. He wore an ill-fitting suit, a rather absurd looking hat shoved down on his head. He was standing at the edge of an alley, as if he'd been on his way out of it when he saw her. The minute he realized he was being watched, he backed into the shadows.

_No, it can't be_. Rebecca hurried after him, brushing past a pair of more leisurely commuters as she hurried after the man in the suit. "Wait!" she shouted, dashing into the alley after him. "Stop!"

When he saw her following, he quickened his pace, breaking into a full on run down the alley. But Rebecca was in better shape than she was used to, and surprised herself when she managed to keep pace, slowly gaining on him.

She managed to keep pace…for about thirty seconds. Then, the past two hours of walking and running suddenly hit her, and she staggered to a stop, breathing heavily.

"Wait!" she called out again, her voice hoarse and breathless. "Please, wait!" she took a deep breath, watching as the man dashed across the street, rounded a corner, and was lost from sight. "Please" she said softly. "Billy…"

It was him. It had to be. It was the only reason she could think of for someone to run when she called out. Clearly, he didn't want her to see her; clearly, he hadn't expected to blunder his way into her.

She stood there, chest and shoulders heaving as she tried to correct her breathing, tried to get it back under control. It was then that she realized just how tired she was. She turned around, ready to go back to her apartment, take a shower, and sleep for about five years…only to find herself face to face with Mat Dawson.

"I _thought_ that was you" he said, then paused, leaning forward a little. "Are you okay?"

_No_ the honest part of her mind wanted her to say. _I just saw a friend, only to have him run off on me. I'm extremely tired. And I'm not very eager about talking to you right now._

Some of that must've shown on her face. "You don't look too happy to see me" Mat said.

"I've just been…running for the past few hours. I'm really wiped."

"Oh" Mat said, in a tone of voice that said he didn't buy it for a moment, but also wasn't going to call her on it. "Well, how've you been?"

"Uh, listen, I'm all nasty and sweaty. I want to go home and change. Why don't we talk then?"

Mat nodded. "Okay." He looked at her expectantly.

"You can wait over there" she said, gesturing toward an open air café. "You can buy something to drink while you wait. It's really hot out here."

Mat looked at her like she was insane. "Are you kidding? It's _freezing _out here. Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"I said I'm fine!" she snapped at him.

Mat blinked in astonishment. "Um…Okay then. See you in a few."

He turned to go. Rebecca realized she shouldn't have yelled at him. She wanted to call out to him, wanted to apologize. ..but didn't. Instead, she headed back to her apartment. She felt guilty every step of the way.

She got out of her sweaty clothes, took a shower, then put on a t-shirt. She was finding she hated running when it was cold. If she dressed enough to be warm when she walked, she felt like a wooly mammoth when she actually got up to speed. Conversely, if she wore normal exercise clothes, as she had today, then she got to walk home with bare arms, the sweat on her body cooling her down to the point of discomfort. She'd been overheated from all her running; now she felt like she'd just climbed out a swimming pool, then stepped into the freezer.

She could dress more warmly now, though. Her hair was wet, but she'd just have to deal with that. She didn't want to make Mat wait any longer than she had to. _Bite the bullet_ her dad always said.

"Better get this over with" she muttered, heading back out.

Mat was sitting where she'd left him. He had a clear plastic cup of something in front of him, which he sipped at to occasionally, plainly so as not to give the rather irritated waitress an opportunity to kick him out of the outdoor dining area. He looked up when he saw Rebecca coming.

"Do you want to talk here, or-?"

Rebecca shook her head. "No, but, I can wait until you-" She paused when Mat shotgunned down the last of whatever he'd ordered. "Okay then."

They walked for a few minutes, not saying anything.

"You look different" he said, after a moment.

Rebecca had let her hair grow out some. Now it was at her shoulders. Other than that, though, she didn't think she'd changed much. Mat, on the other hand…

Clearly, he hadn't been doing much since she saw him last. He'd gained a little bit of weight, which even his dark colored t-shirt and jacket couldn't quite cover up. He'd also apparently not gotten a hair cut since they'd been suspended. He also hadn't shaved. He'd grown a small amount of facial hair when they were stuck in the forest. A month later, and…he was still sporting a rather small mustache. It didn't look especially good on him. "You…too" she said weakly.

Mat turned to face her. "Okay. What's this all about? Why'd you want to meet me?"

"I-uh-" Rebecca's voice trailed off.

"Is it about why you haven't been talking to the other STARS?" Mat asked. "We've all been worried about you. People are watching Barry's house, and…I was afraid something had happened to you."

"I'm okay" Rebecca said immediately, a little touched. _Everyone's been thinking of you, but you haven't got the guts to talk to any of them._

"Are you sure?" Mat asked a little nervously. Clearly, he expected her to blow up at him. When she didn't, he actually looked a little surprised.

"Chris left for Europe this morning" he said, after a moment of silence. "He made contact with an anti-Umbrella group there. Barry's taking his family and getting out of Dodge as well. Brad is…I don't really know what he's doing. That leaves you, me, and Jill here in Raccoon City. I figured the three of us should get together at some point and figure out what our next move should be."

"I…I don't think we should _make_ a next move" Rebecca said quietly.

Mat looked at her in confusion. "What are you saying? Have you forgotten what they did? What happened to Richard and Edward? To Enrico? What almost happened to you and me? They've gotta be stopped."

He pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to her. "I found this on a bulletin board inside the RPD building. This is a slap in the face. They're recruiting right under our noses! They're just gonna try again, and this time…" Mat paused, lowering his voice when he realized people were watching them. "This time, we won't be so lucky. "

Rebecca looked down at the Umbrella recruitment poster, then back at Mat. She could see the expectation in his eyes, the hope. She knew what she had to do next, but it was going to be hard, harder even than leaving Billy behind in the Forest. Slowly, sadly, she pulled a small, flat piece of metal out of the front pocket of her jeans. Without a word, she handed it to Mat.

Mat looked down at it, then back up at Rebecca. "What are you doing?" he asked, shock, hurt, and sorrow mingling in his voice. But he asked her back.

Rebecca had already turned and was walking away.


	10. Paris in AutumnParis en Autumne

Chapter 10: Paris in Autumn/_Paris en Autumne_

(HUNK)

He hadn't been in France in…longer than he cared to admit. Not since before he'd joined the Company, anyway.

Paris was different to him, now. He wondered if it was because he was viewing it through the eyes of a man, not the rosy tinted lens of youth. That thought made him chuckle softly to himself. He viewed the world through a rosy tinted visor when he wore his helmet in combat. Maybe maturity wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

GOBLIN 6 sent him a confused look, clearly disconcerted by his unexpected noise. HUNK made a mental note to be more careful. If his team thought he was unhinged, they would be less likely to trust him in combat. That might have disastrous consequences for the mission. That it might also cause his death was something HUNK didn't even consider. He knew he was untouchable, or nearly enough that it made no difference. Besides, everything died. There was no sense in worrying about the inevitable, especially not when there were other, more pressing matters at hand.

Across from them, slouching in the same uncomfortable chairs as HUNK and the two members of GOBLIN team were TIGE NUIT, a French USS unit. HUNK wasn't especially impressed with their name. NIGHT STALKER, it meant. In his experience, military groups who had to try to make their name sound dangerous did so because their reputation couldn't.

He could by the way they sat that these Frenchmen were thugs, not professionals. He always sat ramrod straight in his chair, and even GOBLINs 6 and 9 had better posture than these individuals. Were he a training sergeant, he would've reamed them out. But he wasn't, so he didn't. If he went into the field with these soldiers, though, he'd have to be extra careful, and warn GOBLIN to do the same.

He'd more or less adopted his fellow former members of the UBCS. Both GOBLIN 6 and 9 had been inducted into the USS along with him. He'd insisted; he wasn't quite sure why himself.

He didn't like sitting in the office. It made him feel exposed; the walls were paper thin, and even 9mms would be able to punch clear through. He could tell by the looks on GOBLIN 6, 9, and the French soldiers that they didn't share his discomfort at their situation, although 9 kept sending him concerned looks, as if he thought their teammate was dangerous. Not that HUNK wasn't.

It never occurred to him that the others could read his face. He was so used to his mask; he'd never gotten good at disguising his emotions. When he was tense, his face showed it.

He wore his black fatigues, minus the mask, just like GOBLIN. The French wore dark blue colored fatigues, which looked far too new to have seen any real use. HUNK's BDUs were torn and stained from years in service; GOBLIN's weren't in very good repair, either. That the French team had new looking fatigues only adding to his distrust of them. After all, what could you expect from a group so obviously as inexperienced as these men were?

The receptionist looked up from her computer when her phone rang. She spoke a few terse words into the receiver in French, then addressed the waiting room. "Doctor Isaacs will see you now" she said, her English sing-song with her Parisian accent. The mercenaries stood almost in unison and tromped toward the door. If the receptionist was disconcerted by being in such close proximity to so many armed men (and, in GOBLIN 6's case, woman), she didn't let on. HUNK wasn't sure, but he envied her calm; if he hadn't known better, he would've thought she did this every day.

He took a moment to look over TIGE NUIT. They weren't carrying much of anything in the way of weaponry: snub nosed Manurhin Special Police F1 .357 magnum revolvers and combat knives. He also carried a knife, along with the rest of GOBLIN. They'd also held onto their Sigs. HUNK wore Matilda on his hip, using the VP-70's stock as a holster. If it came down to a shootout with the French soldiers, though, he wouldn't need the handgun. He was close enough to TIGE NUIT that he could be in among them in seconds. He calculated he could break two of their necks before any of them managed to finish drawing their magnums; by that point, numbers would be sufficiently down that he could move more freely and kill the others at his leisure.

The office they entered was large, but not well furnished. There was a desk in one corner, an overhead projector sitting on a table in front of it. There were no extra chairs. HUNK could appreciate that. The office had an air of temporariness to it; clearly its occupant didn't keep anything inside other than what was immediately needed.

The man standing next to the projector was immediately familiar to HUNK and the two GOBLINS. Doctor Samuel Isaacs, the Umbrella scientist who had dragooned them in the USS after his attempt to liquidate them had failed. HUNK didn't bare him much ill will; Isaacs wasn't the first person to try and kill him.

He didn't waste any time with preamble or introduction. If TIGE NUIT didn't know him, that was clearly their tough luck. "You've been chosen for this operation because you are among the best in our forces" he said calmly, turning on the projector. "You will be inserted into a Corporate laboratory deep underground, where you will make contact with an assistant, Monica Green." A picture flashed up on the overhead; a rather hawkish woman with dark brown hair and the look of someone who knew how to get what she wanted. "Green will assist you in the acquisition of these samples" Isaacs continued, at which point a new image appeared on the projector, a pair of vials, one containing a blue liquid, the other green. The liquid formed a helix inside the vial, like a DNA strand. "The content of these vials is _extremely_ valuable to the Company; return of them to Company hands is your top priority."

Isaacs clicked his pointed again. The image of the two vials was replaced, now with a middle-aged man of Spanish decent, with an athletic build and a smug look that HUNK found he hated immediately. "This is Doctor William Birkin" Isaacs continued. "If Green is unavailable or was unable to secure the samples for you, then you will locate this man and take the samples from him, by force if necessary. You will then exit the labs the same way you came in, then signal for and await extraction. Maps of the facility and alternate extraction points will be provided for you. Any questions?"

"What about this Green?" HUNK asked. "What do we do with her after we have these samples?"

Isaacs shrugged. "If she becomes a liability, remove her. Otherwise, she will not be harmed. Leave her at the facility."

"And the other staffers?" HUNK asked next.

"Expendable." Isaacs paused. "And that includes Doctor Birkin. Should he be unwilling to surrender the sample, you are authorized to use deadly force. Is that sufficiently clear?"

HUNK nodded. "Understood, sir. When do we leave?"

Isaacs glanced down absently at his watch. "In half an hour. Any gear you don't have with you now will be provided once you arrive at your location."

"And where is this lab?" GOBLIN 9 asked.

Isaacs looked at him blankly. "Back in the United States. Further instructions will be given as needed." He looked around at the other soldiers. "Any other questions?" No response. "Dismissed."


	11. The Calm Before

Chapter 11: The Calm Before…

(JASON)

He sat alone in his office at the Denver PD Academy. He had finished reading the blast letter a second time, having already made his decision. _Raccoon City needs recruits, does it?_

Jason Kingston had been on the job long enough to remember when the City part of Raccoon City had seemed like a bad joke. Now, America's biggest small town was well on its way toward becoming the Chicago of the Rockies. If they needed new cops all of a sudden…_Maybe Irons, or somebody underneath him, has finally decided to clean up their act._

He remembered Brian Irons from the Academy; remembered what an obnoxious, lecherous ass the barrel-shaped man had been. How he'd ended up as Chief of Police was something Jason would never guess (not that he didn't have his suspicions). Still…

Denver PD was full. Worse, budget cuts were threatening the careers of several veteran officers, such as Jason himself. If he could get some of his new graduates out into the police force somewhere else, they'd at least have work.

He didn't like the idea of feeding young, idealistic rookies to a corrupting dragon like Irons, but he didn't really have a choice.

He decided he'd send one in first, as a trail case. He remembered this particular rookie well: a friendly, good natured young man with above average intelligence and who was also an expert shot with a handgun

Jason nodded to himself. _Kennedy. We'll send in Kennedy first. If he works out, then I'll send in Thompson and Wade. If not…_Well, there was no point in worrying about that.

Jason felt a little better now. He'd secured a job for at least one of his prized recruits.

"Now let's see if I can keep mine" he muttered to himself, before wading back into the quagmire that was Denver police procedure.

(CHRIS)

Chris's first impression of London was simple. _That's it?_ He wondered to himself, looking around. The terminal here didn't look much different from the one he'd left in Missouri; true, the fashions were a little different. But not the accents. He'd heard once that people from the Midwest and people from England had spoke in a similar way, but he hadn't believed it until he heard it for himself.

And there were people from all over here, too. Chris saw Indians, full, _Indian_-Indians. He saw French and Germans. He saw a small group of business men of Asian decent, a rather large and boisterous family of either Italian or Greek extraction, and a few Spaniards.

By far, though, he saw lots of Brits. It wasn't as big an issue as he'd expected. European…quirkiness was something he'd always taken for granted. In reality…

"It's not so different" he said aloud, looking around.

A passing traveler paused to gape at him, then wondered away, muttering to himself irritably in a language Chris didn't speak. He shrugged, then decided to move out of the way.

There were all sorts of people in the lobby, some carrying large, white poster boards, on which they'd written the names of whoever they'd come to claim. Others, lacking sign-making skills or just not being innovative enough, simply shouted out the names of their loved ones at the top of their lungs. The cacophony was relentless.

Chris was used to dealing with loud noises, though. His time with the Air Force had either strengthened or deadened his hearing to the point the extra sound didn't bother him. He focused on the signs, his eyes narrowed as he tried to make them out. Most of them were in English, but Chris wouldn't have known had he not looked _very_ closely; some of these people had the handwritten of a slow Third Grader.

At last, he found what he was looking for: a plain, brown piece of cardboard, once the side of a box, on which someone had written in black Magic Marker his online handle. Chris took a moment to study the sign's holder: a tall, thin man with light brown hair and the casual sort of good looks that immediately made him jealous. He headed toward the man anyway. This was either Trapper, or someone in contact with him. Either way, this was who he needed to speak to.

The man lowered his sign and gave Chris the same once over. If he was impressed with the STARS marksman, he didn't let on. Chris didn't like the feeling that he'd been weighed, measured, and found wanting; all the same, there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"Reddy?" the sign-holder asked.

Chris nodded. "That's right. Trapper?"

The other man bobbed his head once in agreement. Chris was already beginning to see he was a man subtle of word and gesture. "Good. Let's head out. I've got transport waiting for us outside." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away. Shouldering his bag (he'd always been one to pack lightly), Chris followed.

There was a circle driveway outside, just like there had been at both airports Chris had flown from back in the States. Trapper angled toward a nondescript white van idling by the curb. Chris thought it looked like something a pedophile would drive, but kept his opinion to himself.

Trapper walked around the vehicle and opened the passenger's side door (_Right, they drive on the wrong side here_ Chris realized). The rear door slid open seemingly of its own accord. It was dark inside.

"Go on, get in" said a woman from the driver's seat. She was brunette, and while she didn't sound especially old, she had a face that bore the marks of a sad life.

Chris did as instructed, noting with some small apprehension that the door slid closed on its own as well. Then he realized it was on a motor, and relaxed…right up until he saw the other occupant of the van.

"You're Reddy, right?" asked the giant sitting in the back.

Chris didn't answer at first, struck by the sheer physical presence of the man. Chris was a little past six feet tall; this guy had a good four inches on him, easily. Further, his biceps were as big around as Chris's thighs, while his neck resembled a tree trunk.

"You deaf, brother? I asked you a question."

"Uh…" Chris wracked his brain. They'd worked this all out on the internet. "No, I'm Redbird" Chris managed at last. Reddy had been a childhood nickname, REDBIRD his call sign back in the Air Force. They were two unrelated pieces of data; something he didn't expect Umbrella to piece together on its own. Still… "Who are you?"

The big man pointed to his chest. "Me? I'm John. John Andrews. I'm Canadian, in case you were wondering."

"I'm David Trapp" said the man in the passenger's seat. "I put together this little network of ours. And if you couldn't tell by my cultured tone and ability to pron_unce_ words correctly, I'm a citizen of this lovely Kingdom." He looked back at Chris, smiling faintly to show he was kidding.

"I'm Karen" said the woman. "Karen Driver, from Pennsylvania. And I do the…well; I've got the right name for my job, at least."

Chris smiled, then turned back to the big man, John. "And you're in charge of…?"

John grinned tightly, the muscles in his ridiculous neck flexing. "Me? I'm in charge of…public relations."

Chris chuckled at that. Karen Driver snorted. David Trapp…smiled faintly. John looked rather pleased with his joke.

Chris nodded to himself. These were good people. _We can do this_ he realized. _We _will_ do this_.

(MAT)

Mat was getting tired of being at home. He wasn't doing anything; he needed to be out, actually contributing to the fight. He needed to go find Jill. It was just them against Umbrella now.

He'd seen Barry right before the STARS weapons expert had left for the second, final time about a week earlier. He'd set Mat up with a special back holster for the M1911. It placed the weapon at the small of his back; wearing a jacket, the small .45 was almost totally invisible. Even better, there had been enough space between his belt and the holster to slide in Rain's knife. He'd checked himself in the mirror, and seen that neither weapon was visible.

That accomplished, he grabbed his wallet…and Rebecca's STARS badge, then slid them both into his pocket. He'd been carrying that with him everywhere he went, since she'd given it to him two weeks earlier. He wasn't sure why; the familiar weight just served to remind him that he'd lost a friend.

He opened the door, started to step outside…and almost stepped on the small, brown paper box at his door. Curious, he picked it up and stepped back inside.

He gave the box a cautious shake, unsure what it might contain. Had it been a bomb, as he feared, it didn't go off after that, so he decided it was safe to open.

Inside was a single, small, leather bound book. Mat looked at the front cover.

Operational Records

James Marcus

He stopped, looking at it in confusion. _How-?_ He saw a small sheet of paper inside the front cover. He pulled it out, and read the typed note.

_If you intend to keep going after Umbrella, this will likely be all you need to bring them down. I have already contacted a reporter at the _Raccoon Press, _and have sent him a portion of this book electronically, to convince him it is genuine_._ He will meet you at J's Bar tonight at seven o'clock. Bring him this book, and keep an eye on him. Umbrella isn't likely to let their dirty little secrets out without a fight._

He couldn't recognize the handwriting on a typed note, but he had a pretty strong hunch who had sent it to him. He slid the small journal into his front pocket, then stepped out into the early morning September air.

**That's the end of "Before the Storm." This one was a bit more difficult to write, due to the lack of action, but I'm glad I got the extra experience of writing something more drama-oriented than I'm used to. **

**Well, thanks for reading. If you'd be so kind, drop me a review for this story; if you're **_**really**_** feeling generous, go back and review **_**Evil…Redefined.**_** That poor thing only has eight reviews…**

**Anyway, I'm going to try to start uploading every Saturday. I intend to have the beginning of the next story up by then; subscribe to me if you want to get instant notifications of when I publish something.**

**Anyway, thanks once again for reading. I do this all for you guys.**

**-Godzillafan93**


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